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thp: story 
of glencoe 

and other Poems 

• By GEORGE TAYLOR 




Glfficoe 



NEW YORK 

CALEDONIAN PUBLISHING CO. 

BIBLE HOUSE 

1909 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Cooies Received 

JAN 13 1909 

OopyriKfit entry 

LASS Gw XXO. No, 
OOPV 8. 



Copyright, n^oS 
By George 1 aylor 



r CONTENTS 

Dedication 
Introduction 
Invocation 
I Call to the Chiefs, Rehearsed by Angus, the 

Bard of Glencoe, and Denounced 

III The Exiled King 

IV The Messenger 

V The Abbe 

VI The Clansman's Story. He describes the Battle 

of Killiecrankie, and Death of Lord Dundee 

VII The Midnight Conference 
IX The Abbe's Advice 

XI The Messenger's Return 

XII The Journey to the Fort 

XV Mac lan's Conference with His Sons 

XIX The Disappointment 

XX Mac Ian Takes the Oath 

XXI The Conspiracy 

XXIII Glenlyon Seeks the Hospitality of Glencoe 

XXV The Seer's Warning of Treachery 

XXVII Ossian's Cave 

XXVIII The First Night in Ossian's Cave 

XXIX Ossian Speaks to Angus the Bard 
XXXI Chief John Challenges Glenlyon 



Page 

5 

7 

13 

15 
i8 

19 
20 

21 

25 

28 

31 
32 

36 

41 
42 

43 
44 
49 
54 
55 
56 
59 



CONTENTS 

Page 

XXXII The Irish Corporal's Significant Hint 60 

XXXIII The Midnight Massacre 61 
XXXIX The Last Song of Angus the Bard 67 
XLIII Conclusion 71 
APPENDIX TO THE STORY OF GLENCOE 

Facsimile of Major Robert Duncanson's Order to 

Captain Robert Campbell of Glenlyon 74 

.Who was the Heavy Villain in the Glencoe 

Tragedy? 75 

The Men of Glencoe. Fifty Years After the 

Tragedy 83 

LAYS OF THE OLD LAND 

Scotia 89 

God Bless the Dear Auld Land 91 

Fareweel to Bonnie Scotland 92 

A Wee Sprig o' Heather 94 

O Lassie, Mind Yer Mither's Words 94 

On Dundee Law. A Picture from Memory 96 

An American Scot's Coronation Salutation 10 1 

The Siege of Berwick 104 

An Appeal for the Auld Brig o' Ayr iii 
SCOTS WORTHIES 

John Knox 117 

Samuel Rutherford 117 

Jennie Geddes 1 19 

Archie Armstrong, the Last Court Fool 122 



CONTENTS 





Page 


Robert Burns 


126 


Sir Walter Scott 


129 


William Craig 


130 


The Uncrowned King 


131 


SALT WATER SONGS 




The Old Salt's Soliloquy- 


135 


Falling Stars 


137 


The Wreck of the Stella 


139 


Sing Me a Lullaby, Dark Rolling Sea 


140 


No More Sea 


142 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 




When the Pilgrim March is Ended 


147 


The Mourners 


149 


Memorial Day 


153 


Morning, Noon and Night 


154 


Hobbies 


155 


Ode to Spring 


158 


The Three Graces 


160 


The Slump in Poetry 


161 



DEDICATION 

In June, 1902, there appeared In the "New York Caledo- 
nian" a poem entitled "The Men of Glencoe," which attract- 
ed considerable attention among the members of the "Order of 
Scottish Clans." 

My friend, John H. MacDonald, of New York, after read- 
ing it, expressed the opinion that no fitting memorial had yet 
been written of the men, the women and the children who died 
in that night over two hundred years ago, in the Valley of Glen- 
coe, and that the spirited interest I had manifested in the sad 
story seemed to point to me as the one on whom the task should 
be laid. I shrank from the task as one unfitted for such a theme, 
but it haunted me and grew upon me, till after a lapse of two 
years I began to note down the thoughts in that connection that 
came to me in the leisure hours of an othen\ase busy life. The 
result of my labor of love is now with great diflSdence, presc"nted 
to the descendants of the heroic old race, represented by the 
Highland Clans of Scotland, whose names have adorned the 
pages which record the heroism and progress of the world's his- 
tory for hundreds of years. The Poem I here respectfully dedi- 
cate to the Order of Scottish Clans. 

George Taylor. 



INTRODUCTION 

The Massacre of Glencoe, which occurred February 13, 1692, 
stands out as the ugh'est blot on the pages of Scottish History. 
Conceived in secret for private ends, planned by a traitor 
under the pretense of public policy, consummated under the 
guise of friendship by a guest living under the sacred obliga- 
tions of hospitality, it remains pre-eminently one of the most 
dastardly outrages ever perpetrated against the instincts and tra- 
ditions of the Scottish people. 

The number slain in cold blood, many while asleep in their 
beds, is stated to have been thirty-eight, and there is a strong 
probability that a greater number perished on the mountains dur- 
ing the snow storm then raging, for many persons missing from 
that vicinity have never been accounted for. The monstrous 
act was so cunningly contrived that three years elapsed before 
suspicions of it had sufficiently leaked out to arouse the Scottish 
people to demand an investigation of the circumstances. 

A Royal Commission was then reluctantly appointed and 
the principal participants were exposed. The report named the 
Secretary of State, Stair, as the instigator, and the various mili- 
tary officers employed by him as the perpetrators. It also sug- 
gested that Parliament should address His Majesty requesting 
him to recall Glenlyon, who was then on foreign service, and 
that he and the other murderers should be brought to trial. But 



8 INTRODUCTION 

the fact remains that King William neither ordered them to be 
brought to trial, nor did he dismiss them from the public service. 

The MacDonalds of Glencoe were the actual victims, but 
the plan of the massacre had a much wider scope, as was shown 
by the investigation. As a matter-of-fact record of events, 
Macaulay in his History of England, Scott and others have per- 
haps, done justice to the affair. But touching the deeper springs 
of human nature, the heart motives, the old loyalty, the hopes 
and aspirations of the Highland nature, these, so far as the pres- 
ent author knows, have never been considered. Nor has the policy 
inaugurated under the government of William of Orange ever 
been abandoned or discouraged; it has only been changed in its 
methods. From the time of the massacre to the present day, the 
Highland regiments have been made to bear the brunt of every 
campaign. They are the first to be ordered out, the last to be 
recalled, and almost invariably are given the longest terms of 
service at the deadly foreign posts. 

The straths and the glens of the Scottish Highlands, which 
were once the abode of a brave, lo3^al people, have (in a large 
measure) become merely the grazing run of sheep and cattle, 
and sporting grounds for the aristocracy. If conditions were 
otherwise this present effort to vindicate the rude old heroic-race, 
w^ho were worthy of a better fate than that meted out to them, 
had never been made. 

For the enlightenment of readers unfamiliar with Highland 
customs, it may be necessary to state that such names as Mac Ian 
of Glencoe, Mac Cullom of Argyle, Lochiel of Clan Cameron 
and others were not individual names, but hereditary titles, and 



INTRODUCTION 9 

in many cases the name of the chief or of the clan, or the lands 
held by the clan, were interchangeable. Thus, Breadalbyn, Glen- 
lyon, Lochiel, etc., were called by the name of their lands. 

Charles II. died February 6, 1685. His brother, the 
Duke of York, ascended the throne as James II. of England 
and James VII. of Scotland. 

Mary, daughter of James, was married to William, Prince 
of Orange, who thus became joint heirs to the English and Scot- 
tish thrones, unless a son should be born to James. James was 
zealous for the re-establishment of the Roman Catholic faith, and 
was in communication with the Vatican with that object in view. 

William of Orange was an adherent of the Protestant 
faith. A son was born to King James on June 10, 1688. Wil- 
liam, who had hitherto been cautious and conciliatory in British 
politics, seeing himself excluded from the desired succession to 
the throne, became bolder and took an active part in the affairs 
of State. With the aid and sanction of the States of Holland, he 
collected an army of fifteen thousand men, and a fleet of five hun- 
dred sail, and, on November 5, 1688, landed at Torbay, Devon- 
shire. There was an immediate and general desertion of King 
James and his cause, so completely had the British sovereign 
weaned away his people by his false policy, and his only safety 
was in flight. He escaped to France, where he died September 
16, 1701." 

William of Orange and his wife, Mary, were crowned April 
II, 1689. The only active opposition to the new dynasty in 
Scotland was carried on under the leadership of John Graham of 



10 INTRODUCTION 

Claverhouse, better known as Viscount of Dundee. He was idol- 
ized by the Jacobite clans, and by their aid, on June 17, 1689, 
won a splendid victory over William's forces at the Pass of Killie- 
crankie, where he fell mortally wounded, and his army disbanded, 
simply for want of a trusted leader. 

At this juncture of affairs, a scheme was concocted by Sir John 
Dalrj'mple, Secretary of State, or Master of Stair, as he was 
called. He and his intimate friend (the Earl of Breadalbyn) 
persuaded King William that the allegiance of the Highland 
Chieftains could easily be bought, and that on account of their 
unmistakable poverty and high military spirit, they could readily 
be formed into a very efficient auxiliary force for his support. 
Breadalbyn, the head of a powerful branch of the Argyle clan, 
was a person of great power and influence. In furtherance of 
this plan, he was entrusted with a sum variously estimated to have 
amounted to ten thousand or twenty thousand pounds. It has 
always been doubted whether any of this blood money ever found 
its way into the hands of the Highland Chiefs, whom it was in- 
tended should thus be won over to King William's service. 

In August, 1 69 1, a Royal Proclamation was issued ordering 
the Highland Chiefs to swear allegiance to King William before 
the first day of January, 1692. It was stated that after that date 
all who had not submitted should be subjected to the extremities 
of fire and sword. 

Breadalbyn should have been the last man to be entrusted with 
such a fund, or such a mission, for not only was he the hereditary 
foe of the MacDonalds and the Lochaber Clans generally, but 
he was hated and distrusted by all. 



INTRODUCTION ii 

Such was the man who invited the Jacobite Chiefs to a con- 
ference at his residence in Glenorchy, which ended in a quarrel. 
It has been shown by correspondence and by State papers that a 
reconciliation of the clans was not so much desired as their 
destruction, and that Sir John Dalrymple, Secretary of State, con- 
spired with Breadalbyn and others with that end in view; and 
when driven to desperation and vindictiveness by the fact that all 
the Chiefs, with the one exception of Maclan of Glencoe, had 
taken the oath within the specified time, they eagerly settled upon 
that clan for destruction. This extermination would gratify their 
implacable hatred ; so they withheld from the Council the fact of 
Maclan 's subsequent allegiance and also the note of excuse for 
delay^ which was sent by the Sheriff of Argyle, who had admin- 
istered the oath. 



The Story of Glencoe 



INVOCATION 

Glencoe, O Glencoe! there is woe! there is woe! 

That comes like an echo from days long ago; 

And the mists hang a veil o'er the Valley of Weeping,* 

And the winds sob and sigh where the clansmen are sleeping 

Who died in the night, long ago, long ago, 

And the Cona leaps down from her sorrow-fed fountains 

To chant her wild song to the rocks and the mountains; 

The song that she learned in the night long ago, 

When the sons of Diarmid, with crafty Glenlyon 

In guise of a friend, sought the home of Maclan, 

The heart and the head of the tribe of Glencoe. 

But who shall essay to rehearse the sad story, 

Or chant the Coronach in alien tongue? 

The bards who of old shrined their heroes in glory 

Have died with their Chief, and the song is unsung. 

O, spirit of song that flowed down through the ages, 

Inspiring to valor the heroes of old; 

Shall ye nevermore stir the heart's throbbing pages, 

And wrongs of Glencoe be forever untold? 

*Glen-Coe in Gaelic, means Valley of Weeping. 



14 THE STORY OF GLENCOE 

Shall OssianV spirit be silent forever? 

The mountains of Fingal resound nevermore? 
The clan have no bard but the wild rushing river 

And wail of the wind on its desolate shore? 

O come ye proud spirits of days long departed, 
Whose mission and pride was to weave into song 

The deeds of the mighty, the brave hero-hearted. 
Whose virtue was courage and hatred of wrong, 

Give voice to a scion of the race still undaunted, 
Whose bosom still swells with its ancient renown, 

Whose heart, like the old Scottish glen, is still haunted 
And fired with a passion that seas cannot drown. 

Give voice as of old, when untrammeled by measure 
The heart had a voice for the message it bore, 

Now soft with the rhythm of love's tenderest treasure 
Or wild as the tempest that sweeps Skerryvore.* 

And thus would I sing of the days long departed, 
With withering scorn for a treacherous foe, 

And send from afar from a son loyal-hearted 
A garland of song for the graves of Glencoe. 

*A storm centre reef on the west coast of Scotland. 



THE STORY OF GLENCOE 15 



CALL TO THE CHIEFS 

Angus, the bard of Strath-Coe, rehearses the general tenor of 
Breadalbyn's call and then denounces its hypocrisy. 

Gather ye! Gather ye! Chiefs of the Highlands! 

Come from Lochaber, Strath-Earn and Braemar, 
Come from Glengarry, Lochiel and the Islands, 

Verdant Strathmore, and the wild Loch-ny-gar! 

Chiefs of the clans that are famous in story, 

Worthy the sires that were famous of yore; 
Bulwarks to stand for the old Scottish glory, 

Sons of the heather that swing the claymore. 

Think of the days when your fathers united, 

BafHed the Roman, the Saxon, the Dane, 
Shall their proud laurels be withered and blighted 

By such vain feuds as your sires would disdain? 

Shall we immure in our self-isolation 

Men who were born to be leaders of men? 
Chiefs who should lead in the van of the Nation, 

Dwarfing their powers in their own narrow glen? 



i6 THE STORY OF GLENCOE 

Shall it be said that our courage is waning? 

Shall it be said that our honor is dead? 
Shall we, the old martial spirit restraining, 

Shrink from the fields where our forefathers bledPl 

Turn from the vain petty feuds that defame us, 
Foster the pride of our fathers of yore ; 

Fan the old fires lest our children should shame us, 
Shrinking in fear from our dear Scottish shore. 

See our fair land that hath long been distracted. 
Torn and dissevered by factional strife; 

Take of the bounty the King hath enacted. 

Rise for the King! Let old Scotland have life! 



II 



Heard j'e the slogan that comes from Breadalbjm? 

What are the tidings his messengers bring? 
Come to the Council, ye Chiefs of old Albyn, 

Pledge your allegiance to William, the King. 

This is the slogan that comes from Breadalbyn! 

Come, sell your honor, j^our men and your lands. 
Stifle the old independence of Albyn, 

Perjure your manhood and fetter your hands. 

Come to Glen-Orchy, to council of cravens; 
Pledge ye your sons like your herds to be sold; 



THE STORY OF GLENCOE 17 

Stair, the sly fox, spreads a feast for the ravens, 
Baiting his traps with the Sassenach's gold. 

Shun ye Breadalbyn! The guide to disaster, 

Death and dishonor lurk under his wing. 
Touch not his bounty, nor choose for your master 

The icicle heart in the robes of a King. 

Go, crafty Stair, to thy cold-blooded master; 

Go, base Breadalbyn, who covets our lands; 
Honor may weep o'er the grave of disaster, 

But we shall not die with your bribe in our hands. 

Go tell your master his gold cannot buy us; 

The King of the Highlands is over the sea; 
O for a spirit to lead us and try us. 

Like gallant Montrose or our Bonny Dundee. 

Then would the step of the clansman be sprightly, 
Brave hearts would bound for the cause we adore; 

Then would our claymores from scabbards leap lightly, 
Then should ye see "Killiecrankie" once mor:?. 

Fair flowers may cover the pathway to ru'n, 

Foul deeds be covered by words fair and bland: — 

Men of the Highlands! there's mischief a-brewing; 
Look to your honor, your lives and your lands! 



i8 THE STORY OF GLENCOE 

III 

THE EXILED KING 

King James, an exile o'er the sea, sat pensive and alone; 

An alien from his regal line was seated on his throne; 

And gazing on the flickering fire before him on the hearth. 

Old fancies of the past came back from childhood's days of mirth. 

But fancy now saw other things than those his childhood traced; 

The glamour and the mirth were gone, the glory all effaced. 

The tinseled lackey at his door, the forms of regal state. 

Enhanced the fancies that revealed the irony of fate. 

"Lost! Lost!" he murmured, "all is lost of that which once was 

mine; 
Nought but disaster seems to cling to my disastrous line; 
Shades of my fathers, must it be that some malignan'c power 
Shall rule thy regal dynasty down to its latest hour? 
I backward glance and trace afar its trail of blood and tears, 
Its Flodden Field, its civic strife and Mary's martyr years; 
I see a i-egal head discrowned and rolling in the dust, 
And the rude rabble drunk with power of liberty and lust. 
They spurn authority and law, and all its powers disown; 
And flout the 'Majesty Divine' that doth surround a throne. 
And I the last, the least, to bear the load of this sad line; 
The burden of three Kingdoms laid on this poor heart of mine! 
Three Kingdoms! with their three- fold weight of envy, hate and 

pride, 
Where Papist, Prelate, Presbyter, like rampant furies ride, 



THE STORY OF GLENCOE 19 

Each in his own embittered heart for plot and treason rife, 
And clamorings of holy war, O most unholy strife! 
An exiled King looks o'er the sea with sad and wistful eye: 
To bring the old land back to God: 'O, I would gladly die.' " 



IV 

THE MESSENGER 

A boisterous stranger at the gate desires to see the King. 
Whence cometh he? What is his name? What tidings doth he 

bring? 
He hath a rude, uncourtly air, and saith with haughty fling — 
"I have no name; I have no word for any but the King!" 
"Call out the guard and search him well, and watch for sign of 

strife, 
And tell him he shall see the King at peril of his life." 
Ten stalwart guards with sabres drawn, march in with martial 

din 
And to the presence of the King the stranger ushered in. 
And he, most stalwart of them all, erect with martial pride; 
Three guards before and three behind, and two at either side. 
Then with salute he reverent knelt in presence of the King, 
And silently with outstretched hand gave to the King a ring. 
The King a while gazed at the ring between his finger tips, 
Then tremblingly he turned aside and pressed it to his lips. 
His face took on an ashen hue, his eyes a dreamy stare: — 



20 THE STORY OF GLENCOE 

"Dismiss the guard," he feebly said, and sank into a chair. 
The guards withdrew, though boding ill from such a strange be- 
hest. 
They feared to leave the King alone with such an uncouth guest; 
But martial law ruled at the court, forbidding such a thing 
As lingering in the audience room unbidden by the King. 



THE ABBE 

Meanwhile wild, anxious fears were spread, and silence reigned 

within, 
Till the good Abbe, bold in faith, presumed to enter in: 
And bowing lowly said: "Oh King, I pray you, pardon me 
That I so rudely should intrude, but let love be my plea: 
A boding rumor came to me, your Majesty was ill. 
And, as in duty bound, I came to learn your gracious will." 
"Most welcome, and most timely, too," the King then made reply, 
"For I am ill, and slow of wit, and fateful moments fly: 
See'st thou, good Father Fergus, this dread relic in my hand? 
It is a message from the dead, a challenge, a command! 
Take thou this relic, scan it well, and I shall make it speak, 
Even though the words should wring my heart, and tears be on 

my cheek; 
See'st thou the gold with hair inwrought, dark as the raven's 

wing? 



THE STORY OF GLENCOE 21 

That hair was on my father's head when severed from the King. 

And that fair pearl with rubies set, emblem of peace in strife, 

Is for the soul of her who bore the martyrdom of life, 

And martyr died by wicked hands, which by that deed alone 

Kindled a hell in her own heart that seared it on her throne.* 

And I, when adverse fate pressed hard and all was dark with me. 

My hopes rose with the rising star of gallant, brave Dundee, 

And in the fullness of my heart I gave to him this ring, 

And said, 'When Heaven and thy good sword some brighter days 

shall bring. 
Bear this to me, and claim thy right to aught that I can give, 
And know this pledge shall honored be so long as I shall live.' 
And now, alas, my pledge is brought, but not by brave Dundee; 
Oh, would that I, by Gary's side, had glorious died with thee!" 



VI 

THE CLANSMAN'S STORY 

"But time is flying! Great our need! Speak, Highland clans- 
man, speak! 
Tell us in thy rude, honest speech the boon that thou dost seek: 
Tell our good Abbe who thou art and what the news you bring, 
And how Dundee, with dying breath, gave your brave Chief the 

nng. 
The clansman made obeisance low, and blushingly he said: 
*Queen Elizabeth. 



22 THE STORY OF GLENCOE 

"My name is Ronald, near of kin to the brave Chief who led 
Your Majesty's most loyal clan, MacDonald of Glencoe, 
At Killiecrankie on that day of glory and of woe: — 
Maclan to my father said, 'Forbid that youth's mad pranks, 
Your son is but a stripling boy; go call him from the ranks. 
This is a time for well tried men to deal out sturdy blows; 
We meet no rabble here to-day, for veterans are our foes; 
Or if his Highland blood is up, and must a battle see, 
I'll give him for a messenger to wait on Lord Dundee: 
For he must rule the fight to-day, and with his eagle eye, 
Shall see our clansmen sweep the field, or see them bravely die.' 
I stood beside my Lord Dundee upon the rising ground. 
Lord! how my heart leaped in my breast when rose the pibroch's 

sound ! 
And the wild yell of Highland men as down the steep hillside, 
They threw themselves upon the foe in a resistless tide. 
Upon the right MacDonald's might broke through the ranks of 

steel. 
And down the line swept Keppoch's men. Glengarry and Lochiel! 
And surging like a raging sea, with clash and yell and scream, 
The lowland men were swept like sheep into the Gary's stream: 
But in the centre of their line their solid ranks stood still 
Unbroken, where our weakened line divided on the hill. 
Then spurring down to where our men stood panting from the 

fray, 
'Now, brave MacDonald!' cried Dundee, 'come finish up the day. 
By ancient right you've led the fight on many a bloody field. 
Now for our country and King James make the last traitor yield: 



THE STORY OF GLENCOE 23 

Charge, valiant clansmen! Charge with me, in such a gallant 

fight 
Who would not share this glorious day, though he should die to- 
night?' 
Then screamed the pibroch to the charge, then rose the High- 
land yell, 
Then rang the claymore on the targe, and on their ranks we fell: 
And as we closed, their serried ranks poured their last volley in, — 
We caught their bayonets on the targe, and clove them to the chin. 
Brief, wild and bloody was the strife, and wild the victor's shout, 
And not a man dared look behind in all that dreadful rout. 
And I, true to Maclan's charge, kept at my master's side. 
'Twas I who caught him as he fell. I watched him till he died. 
And as I laid him on the heath, 'Go, call your Chief,' he said. 
And when he came, 'Kneel down,' he said, 'ere my last breath is 

sped, 
For thou hast been my strong right arm in this most glorious day, 
Wilt thou be faithful to the cause when I have passed away?' 
With moistened eyes, Maclan said, 'Take thou my bloodstained 

hand, 
For weal or woe, henceforth I live, true to the King's command.' 
Then said Dundee, 'I die content, unclasp my cloak and mail. 
There is a treasure near my heart which some day may avail 
To bring great honor to thy house, take thou this sacred ring. 
And when some boon thou wouldst desire, present it to the 

King.' 
Thus having said, from glorious field his brave soul passed away; 
And I, O King, had mine own grief; my father died that day." 



24 THE STORY OF GLENCOE 

A while he paused with downcast look, then grief gave way to 

pride. 
"Thus would I die," he proudly said, "as all my fathers died! 
Maclan took me for his own, I was his brother's son, 
And I in turn was mother's stay, I was her only one. 
And I was absent from the glen, toiling for daily bread. 
His own sons dared not leave the glen, so I was sent instead: 
For be it known that since the day we fought by Gary's tide 
We have been haunted night and day by spies on every side; 
And our hereditary foes have now a scheme in hand, 
With one eye set on England's gold, the other on our land: 
And Stair^ the Minister of State, hath late matured a plan 
To buy up every Highland Chief and every Highland Clan, 
And raise an army of the North, fore-sworn to William's will, 
And base Breadalbyn, trusted chief, their mission to fulfill. 
And proclamation hath gone forth that every tribe and clan 
Shall swear allegiance to the King or fall beneath the ban 
Upon the last day of the year. And thus, O King, we stand : 
The last clan faithful unto thee in all the Scottish land: 
For it is said your loyal clans have been absolved by thee, 
That they might bow before the blast and keep their conscience 

free 
Till better days shall come again, and brighter stars arise. 
When every loyal heart shall leap to shed its base disguise: 
But no such word was given to us, but shunned by friend and foe, 
As though some plague by Heaven were sent to hover o'er Glen- 

coe. 
Now, O my King, our Chief is old, his message here you see, 



THE STORY OF GLENCOE 25 

The pledge he took at Gary's side he now returns to thee: 
But that he gave to brave Dundee he never can recall, 
And that which binds our honored Chief doth bind us one and all; 
We stand by him whate'er befall, our fate is in your hand. 
We ask no boon, we make no plea, I wait the King's command." 
The clansman ceased and for a while the Priest and King were 

still. 
As though his words had sealed their lips and paralyzed their will : 
Then for a time in whispers low they talked in anxious plight. 
Then called the guard to keep him safe in comfort for the night. 



VII 

THE MIDNIGHT CONFERENCE 

Lx)ng sat the King into the night with his good faithful friend, 
His chaplain and his counsellor through fortune's downward 

trend. 
"When Fortune frowns and friends are few," half musingly he 

said, 
" 'Tis sweet to know in darkest hour that honor is not dead : 
And this brave Chief who sent the ring, it seemeth unto me 
Hath also caught at Garyside, the spirit of Dundee; 
For he hath kept this treasure safe and sacred in his hand. 
Which might an earldom have bought in that distracted land ; 
And with a lofty scorn of pelf, he doth no favor crave 
When he restores what I had thought had long been in the grave. 



26 THE STORY OF GLENCOE 

He asks no boon, the young man saith, nor seeketh he release; 
The pledge he gave a dying man he seeketh not shall cease. 
O brave, true, loyal Highland heart, would I had more like thee; 
Would I had such to lead the clans that followed brave Dundee: 
Then were it joy to see our foes in serried ranks arrayed, 
But Oh the bitterness of soul to see such friends betrayed ; 
For this is what I learn to-night from what the clansman saith: 
Oh pity, Lord, for this exceeds the bitterness of death!" 



vni 



"Dost thou remember, Reverend Sire, about a year ago 
Grave rumors came of vengeful threats against this same Glencoe, 
And all the clans that bore a part in that most glorious day 
To be remembered with the name of him who passed away? 
Now this Breadalbyn, suave and fair, hath favor sought of me, 
But held aloof from our good cause upon the specious plea 
That he was bound by clannish ties and treaty to Argyle, 
Who hath a hungry eye for land by treaty, feud or wile. 
And he too, hath an itching palm, and wisely trims his sail 
To speed his way to wealth and power by every favoring gale, 
His emissaries came to us, but guarded well his name, 
Lest by miscarriage of his plans, not his should be the blame; 
But well we knew the schemes of Stair to win each Highland 

clan ; 
And in three kingdoms William failed to find a shrewder man 



THE STORY OF GLENCOE 27 

Than this Breadalbyn, But 'twas found, though much they loved 

the gold, 
That none of them would take from him a new love for the old. 
But darker plots were being wrought than were to William 

known. 
And dearer schemes were in their hearts than love for William's 

throne ; 
For this Breadalbyn and his friend, the Minister of State, 
Nursed in their hearts a deeper joy — the ministry of hate; 
And stranger allies never met than they who then joined hands. 
One hated the Maclan's clan, the other loved his lands, 
And when they found that there are things that gold can never 

buy, 
A viler scheme their perjured hearts were then resolved to try. 
They issued letters as from me — forged letters, be it known — 
And with great pledge of secrecy showed them to each alone. 
Each loyal Chief was thus deceived, unknown to all the rest, 
And as it seemeth kept the oath a secret in his breast. 
And thus the villainy appears. The malice of their foe 
Hath weaved the meshes of the law around the brave Glencoe, 
And much I fear their base intrigue shall have a bloody end 
And that the foulest blow shall fall on our most faithful friend. 
Come, Father Abbe, thou are wise ; pray tell us if you can 
How we may thwart this base design against our faithful clan." 



IX 

THE ABBE'S ADVICE 

The Abbe rose and paced the floor absorbed in anxious thought; 
Not of the action, but the means, was that for which he sought — 
How best to bridge with least alarm the clansmen's direful strait, 
And best equip the messenger to run a race with fate. 
For he was wise by Nature's dower and lifetime's varied schools 
Of threescore years with crafty men, philosophers and fools: 
He knew smooth statecraft's foul deceits, he knew both how and 

when 
To soothe the anxious troubled soul, or fire the hearts of men. 
So turning to the King he said, "Sire, thou dost see our need; 
The pressing problem of the hour is one of urgent speed: 
For it is near to Christmas-tide, and the uncertain sea 
Gives fickle service at such times between Glencoe and thee: 
But by God's favor and fair winds he may not be too late 
To pledge the letter of the law and foil Breadalbyn's hate. 
The young man brought no written word, in that the Chief was 

wise, 
Let none go back save in the heart, the best of all disguise; 
For by the token which he brought there is no room for doubt, 
Your message to his Chief is safe till he shall draw it out. 
To-morrow, ere the break of day, he with a courier guide 
Shall post to Havre, where our craft doth still at anchor ride. 
Then trust our faithful service men to spirit him away 



THE STORY OF GLENCOE 29 

And up the coast to some safe cove or unfrequented bay. 
Once with his foot on Scottish ground and silver in his hand, 
No earthly power shall bar his way in all the Scottish land. 
For he hath got a lofty soul though cast in rugged mould, 
And knoweth well how much to tell, and how much to withhold. 
And even now at this late hour, though sore he needeth rest, 
I would recall him by your leave, to take the King's behest; 
And I in turn your gracious words will unto him impart 
In Highland speech, which best befits a Highland head and heart. 
Then speed him off before the dawn, back on his homeward way, 
And may God's favor waft him there to foil the vengeful day." 

X 

The King's assent, a quick command, but not with martial din, 
From needed rest and sound repose, the stranger ushered in; 
The Captain of the guard alone, sufficient now to bring 
The drowsy clansman from his couch to presence of the King; 
And as instructed by the King, and standing by his chair, 
The Abbe to the clansman spake in brief and solemn air: 
"Young man, the message which 3'ou bring from your most noble 

Chief 
Hath filled the bosom of the King with gratitude and grief: 
The threatened evil to your clan admits of no delay, 
It is in kindness thus in haste we hurry you away. 
A fleet winged vessel waits for you, and with a trusty guide, 
You must be off before the dawn as fast as man can ride 
To board this ship before it sails, and pray all winds that blow 



30 THE STORY OF GLENCOE 

To speed you on your homeward way back to your loved Glencoe, 
Then hasten to your honored Chief, salute him for the King, 
And in his name thus shall ye say, in answer for the ring: 
'Betrayed! Before the year shall close: 
Bend to the storm and foil your foes!'" 
"Betrayed!" he cried, and in his rage he rose to all his height, 
And like a lion roused to wrath he quivered in his might: 
He clutched the chair by which he stood, his visage seemed to 

gloat 
As though the death grip of his hand clutched on a traitor's 

throat: — 
"Betrayed!" he cried, "and I in France a thousand miles 

away! 
Oh my poor brain will be consumed by moments of delay; 
Let me begone, I pray, O King! Waste neither time nor breath, 
My every nerve is overstrung to run a race with death." 
The Abbe gently raised his hand forbidding further speech. 
Well pleased within himself to know the lesson he would teach 
Had not been lost. The clansman's haste well fitted to his part 
And showed the King volcanic fires hid in the Highland heart. 
Then spake the King in kindly words of gratitude and cheer 
And fervent hope that dangers pass and brighter days appear. 
"And tell thy Chief I pledge to him the honor of a King 
That when they come I'll not forget the token of the ring." 
Then Ronald knelt, the Abbe laid his hand upon his head 
And prayed that he and all his clan might fill their foes with 

dread, 



THE STORY OF GLENCOE 31 

And that the good cause might revive and each come to his own, 
And peace caress the dear old land, with James upon the throne. 
Thus with a blessing on his head, before the dawn of day 
With fleet steeds and with eager heart he sped his homeward 
woe, 

XI 

THE MESSENGER'S RETURN 

Who e'er hath sailed the winter sea from Havre to Montrose, 

Would never covet such a trip for any but his foes; 

With biting blasts and chilling haar, and blinding snow and sleet, 

And choppy seas, where every hour opposing currents meet; 

The days and nights pass gloomily unlit by sun or star, 

The laboring vessel buffeted by elemental war. 

Such was the fate that lay in wait for Ronald on his way, 

Till he was put ashore by night inside of Lunan Bay: 

There resting in a fisher's hut, he waited through the night 

Like an impatient homing bird, to scan with eager sight 

For landmark bold or well known scene, of mountain, wood or 

lake, 
To mark the course his anxious heart and willing feet should 

take. 
And following the paths that led back from the Eastern shore, 
The rising mist revealed to sight the valley of Strathmore, 
With the low Sidlaws on the left and Grampians on the right. 
Lifting their snowcaps to the skies, broke on his raptured sight, 



32 THE STORY OF GLENCOE 

Imparting vigor to his heart and strength to every limb 
To reach the goal that lay beyond the west horizon's rim. 
With scarce an hour for food or rest he pressed on night and daj^ 
Through Strath and glen and rugged pass he held his toilsome 

way; 
Half frozen bogs and swollen streams and banks of drifted snow 
Increased his toil by many a mile before he reached Glencoe: 
And when at last at midnight hour the toilsome march was o'er, 
His giant strength exhausted, fell inside Maclan's door. 
"Welcome! My son!" Maclan cried, "what tidings do j'ou 

bring?" 
Then Ronald looked him in the eye and cried, "Thus saith the 

King — 

'Betrayed! Before the year shall close: 
Bend to the storm and foil your foes.' " 
The old Chief like a statute stood, rigid in form and limb: 
No word escaped his granite face, so silent, set and grim, 
And while the ministries of love soothed Ronald's weary form, 
He silent took his staff and plaid and stole out in the storm. 



XII 

THE JOURNEY TO THE FORT 

Wild was the night when from his door the old chief turned 

away. 
With dark forebodmgs in his heart that filled him with dismay, 



THE STORY OF GLENCOE 33 

But not alone he braved the storm of that bleak, stormy night, 

For not a move nor glance escaped his faithful gillie's sight ; 

He knew that face in storm and calm, he knew each mood and 

look. 
The purpose of his Chieftain's heart was like an open book; 
So, lithe of limb, and fleet of foot, with desperate race to run, 
He glided past the Chief unseen and roused the old man's son — 
"Ho, Alister MacDonald, rise! O 'tis a woeful plight 
That draws your father from his bed on such an awful night. 
Ronald fell fainting at our door, and he could only say, 
'We are betrayed! Rush to the fort before the fatal day!' 
Your father now is on his way, and O the woesome sight 
To see his agony of soul! O woe is me this night! 
To-morrow and our fate is sealed ! Yes, sealed for weal or woe. 
And rude and rugged is the way the old Chief now must go! 
To reach Fort William were a task for a long summer's day, 
But for a night like this, it seems a thousand miles away." 



xni 

Scant were the moments to prepare for such a pressing flight, 
And scant the words the Chieftain spake; he kissed his wife good 

night ; 
Then out into the night they passed, he and the gillie lad, 
And at their heels unbidden came Flora, with visage sad; 
A collie wise beyond her breed, and kindly as her race; 
She understood her master's voice and read his anxious face; 



34 THE STORY OF GLENCOE 

She knew it was no social call, nor young folks' frolic light, 
Nor raid on moor or mountain side that called them out that 

night, 
"Go, Flora, find out where the Chief is floundering in the snow, 
And when you find him, my good dog, speak up and let us 

know." 
Thus spake the Chieftain to his dog, she answering with delight 
Gave three sharp barks, a mutual sign, and vanished out of sight. 
Then following the upward way, unmarked by road or path. 
Save where the Cona's darksome flood came roaring down the 

Strath, 
Like inky streak but dimly seen between its banks of snow, 
Its rumbling o'er the rocky bed the only guide to show 
The luckless travellers of the night the rough and rugged way 
To the grim Fortress of the North where hope of safety lay: 
And as they wrestled with the storm, watchful with eye and ear 
For Flora's voice to pierce the din or moving form appear; 
The signal came, three short sharp barks, full half a mile away; 
With three sharp blasts they started off like clansmen to the 

fray ; 
They soon were at the old Chief's side, who, breathless and dis- 
tressed, 
Still wrestled with the greater storm that raged within his breast. 



THE STORY OF GLENCOE 35 



XIV 



Strange silence bound them for a time, the Chieftain and the 

Chief, 
As though the power of speech congealed beneath the stress of 

grief; 
But filial love was stronger still, and thus the young man spake : — 
"Speak, O my father! speak to me before my heart shall break; 
Tell me by whom we are betrayed, or what malignant fate 
Drives you from home on such a night, or why 3^ou cannot wait 
For light of day to show the way o'er such a rugged path. 
When all the elements are out to smite you in their wrath? 
Donald hath told me Ronald came in sore distressful plight 
And wildly said, 'We are betrayed; rush to the fort to-night!'" 
"Hush, hush! my son, you wildly speak; come, let us hurrj^ on, 
Let Donald hasten on before and call your brother John." 
"Nay, nay, my father, by your leave, we will abide by you. 
Here is a fleeter messenger, as trusty and as true: 
Come, Flora! go call young Chief John, give him the clan haloo! 
And stay with him that he may know that we are coming too." 
The faithful messenger sped on more swiftly than the men 
To where the young Chief's clachan served as outpost to the glen : 
And soon the canine voice gave out what every clansman knew; 
In human speech, a voice replied, and echo cried "Haloo!" 
And when the Chief and escort reached the outpost of the glen, 
There stood before him half a score of stalwart Highland men. 



36 THE STORY OF GLENCOE 

XV 

MAC lAN'S CONFERENCE WITH HIS SONS 

The old Chief and his sons retired into an inner room. 
In hasty conference to plan against the threatened doom: 
The young men pleaded for delay, at least till morning light, 
For it were madness to proceed on such an awful night. 
"The course lies over rugged ground, where road was never 

made; 
A dreary level to the e3^e with neither light nor shade; 
Sky there is none, but just the night hung over like a tent. 
A dim monotony of gloom, with neither seam nor rent: 
Rock, scar and bush lie in the path, torrent and rugged pass, 
Wild Rannoch moor with pit and howe and treacherous morass. 
Nay, father, do not go to-night; j^ou will not gain an hour. 
And should the worst come unto us, defy the tyrant's power, 
And let us meet the hireling hordes beneath an open sky. 
And let MacDonalds hold their own, or fighting let us die!" 
Then spake the Chief, "Once I was young, now I am growing old, 
But never hath Maclan learned to let his blood grow cold; 
You are my sons, your blood is hot, your judgment immature. 
You cannot know the anguish that an old Chief must endure: 
There was a time when to the field I led five hundred men; 
The bulwark of Lochaber's clans was in our rugged glen. 
And from the height of glories past I scan a wider field, 
The present and the future lie before me unconcealed: 



THE STORY OF GLENCOE 37 

From ancient days we held the name beneath the Scottish crown 

First to defend a neighbor's right, the last to lay it down; 

The first and last upon the field to save a tottering throne, 

Till like deserted forlorn hope, at last we stand alone: 

Our old hereditary foes stand hungry at our door, 

And Stair decrees our lands shall nurse the whelps of Cullom 

Mohr! 
Oh, think not that my courage fails, or that my blood grows cold. 
Or that the deeds of later days shall shame our sires of old; 
Give me again the good old da3's when clansmen were not few. 
And honor bound Lochaber men and kindred chiefs were true. 
But now deserted by our friends and pressed by treacherous foes, 
The glory of our ancient clan may have a bloody close: 
But rather would I see our foes sweep o'er us like a flood 
And Somerled's last son go down in glory and in blood 
Than live to see my children stoop to wear the badge of shame, 
Or have a craven bow the knee and bear MacDonald's namel 
We stand the last of all the clans faithful to good King James, 
All others secretly have pledged their honor and their names 
To William, the usurper King, who sits upon the throne; 
We take our orders from King James, and from King James 

alone ; 
And we of all the Highland clans obey the King's commands, 
Bend to the storm and thus retain our honor and our lands. 
And when King James comes to his own, or any of his line. 
Our loyalty shall shrive the sin that his command makes mine: 
I go to-night at his command, and would not lose an hour 
To make the letter of the law frustrate the tyrant's power: 



38 THE STORY OF GLENCOE 

The time is short, so let us go, defying storm and fate, 
Let us do all that men can do, God help us, not too late." 



XVI 



"You John! hereditary Chief, shall stay here in the glen, 
Prepare for either friends or foes, and marshal all your men ; 
And keep your young men well in hand ; let them do nothing rash ; 
And watch your signals night and day, from every peak and pass; 
And Allister shall go with me with four of your best men 
To help us through the heavy drifts and bring us back again: 
But should the elements conspire to foil us on our track, 
I know not what foul fate shall fall before you see us back." 



XVII 

Thus went they forth into the night, with mingled hopes and 

fears. 
With Flora and the gillie first advanced as pioneers; 
Whose wondrous canine instinct joined to native Highland skill, 
Combined to shun the icy slopes and snowbanks deep and chill. 
Thus through the darkness of the night they groped their fickle 

way, 
Which to the sight alone revealed impenetrable gray; 



THE STORY OF GLENCOE 39 

The wild winds shrieiced among the crags, and moaned among 

the pines ; 
And sank to sobbing and to sighs where the dark river twines 
Among the gorse and hazel banks, and o'er its rocky bed, 
As downward to Loch Leven's tide its murky waters sped. 
But slow and toilsome was their course and rugged was their 

way, 
And giant strength was sorely strained before the dawn of day; 
And with the light the chilling mist swept up from Leven's shore, 
And day of grace closed while they toiled through forest of 

Mamore. 
Hope fluttered in the old chief's heart and faded with the light 
As all exhausted he sought rest and shelter for the night 
Within an old turf-cutter's hut, that like a molehill stood 
Where great Ben Nevis' rugged slopes emerges from the wood. 
And rears its solemn cliffs on high, enwrapped in Artiq shrouds. 
And hides its head twixt earth and sky in canopy of clouds: 
The tenant of the lonely hut, though his domain was small. 
Had heart of hospitality worthy a castle hall ; 
His manner and his martial air belied his humble trade 
And told he had not always been the hero of the spade. 
His decorations, not all hid, stood out in seamy scars. 
Mementos of the Highland feud and of the foreign wars: 
He knew by instinct and by sight he had no common guest, 
And he surmised by his sad plight, the object of his quest. 
And soon a bounteous feast was spread unlikely for the place ; 
But Highland hospitality a humble hut may grace: 



40 THE STORY OF GLENCOE 

The host had learned in war's rude school, in home and foreign 

land, 
To use whatever Nature gives with scant or lavish hand; 
And he could snare the silly hare or trap the timid doe, 
Or take the wild fowl of the moor on clearings of the snow. 
And was not this a festive time, the last night of the year. 
With larder, full and Usquebaugh to crown the Highland cheer? 
It were but courtesy to aid a stranger in his need, 
But entertain MacDonald's Chief were privilege indeed ! 
The guests reclined as best they could around the glowing peat, 
But Donald knelt and rubbed with snow his master's frozen feet: 
And when the glow of life returned they all dropped off to rest, 
And slept as only clansmen can on Nature's naked breast. 



xvni 

Before the dawn the men arose all eager to depart; 
And the old Chief, with aching limbs and with an anxious heart, 
Could ill disguise the strong desire he struggled to conceal, — 
To breach the Highland courtesy and slight the morning meal. 
But the wise host had long outgrown the weak punctilious law. 
When stern necessity swoops down and desperate chances draw; 
And had provided sumptuous fare to help them on the way, 
And he himself should be their guide to where Fort William lay; 
For he had dealings with the Fort and knew the winding way, 
And ushered in his weary guests upon the New Year's Day. 



THE STORY OF GLENCOE 41 

XIX 

THE DISAPPOINTMENT 

Alas! the bitterness of heart, the sorrow and the cost, 
When mortals play a stake with fate and find that they have lost. 
The King's Commissioner had gone on the preceding day, 
And not a moment's grace was given for weather or delay; 
The old Chief pleaded long and sore for children of his clan, 
With the Commander of the Fort, to save them from the ban 
And cruel edict of the law, even though the time were spent: — 
To take his pledge, and credit give for effort and intent. 
The generous martial spirit rose within the soldier's breast. 
That scorns to trample on the weak or harry the oppressed: 
He could not take the old Chief's pledge, the malice of the law 
Would not regard the good intent behind such fatal flaw: 
The nearest civic officer was distant many a mile, 
So he a kindly message sent the Sheriff of Argyle 
Beseeching him for pity's sake to take within the fold 
"A poor belated sheep detained by tempest, storm and cold." 
Thus armed with letter from the Fort, without an hour's delay 
The old Chief and his weary men were on their homeward way; 
But home and rest were not for them, even within a mile 
They passed their home in eager haste to reach the far Argyle; 
Where dwelt the officer of law, how distant few may know. 
For it was measured not by miles but toilsome march and slow. 
O'er tangled moor and torrent flood, snowbank and deep morass, 
By stormy Loch, by deep defile, and rugged mountain pass; 



42 THE STORY OF CLENCOE 

Until at last by dark Loch Fyne; those rugged clansmen saw 
Their honored Chief bow down before the majesty of law. 



XX 

MAC IAN TAKES THE OATH 

Sir Colin Campbell, of Argyle! Honor be to his name! 

He knew the bitterness of heart with which the old Chief came: — 

Traditions of a thousand years, the honor of his clan 

Rose in rebellion in his heart, and he were less than man 

Co\ild he forget wrongs unavenged and loyal pledge withdraw, 

And thus bow down before his foe at bidding of the law: 

All this and more. Sir Colin knew of Highland hate and pride; 

He knew MacCullum Mohr himself was dallying with the tide 

That ebbed and flowed in fickle moods in the affairs of state, - 

And titles wavered insecure upon the winds of fate: 

Now William's star was on the rise and James's on the wane. 

And policy would hail the cause that promised greater gain; 

And thus with generous, tender touch, unusual in that age, 

He kindly spake to the old Chief, his sorrows to assuage, 

And while he ministered the pledge for William and his throne, 

He knew by fealty to his Chief how fickle was his own: 

So with assurances of peace he sent him on his way 

And issued warrants under seal all vengeful acts to stay: 

And thus assured his clan escaped the menace of their foe. 

The old Chief and his men returned to their beloved Glencoe. 



THE STORY OF GLENCOE 43 

XXI 

THE CONSPIRACY 

Dun Edin! round thy lofty towers, what mingled memories 

cling! 
What deeds of glory and of shame from other days they bring! 
At once they thrill the patriot's heart, and stir his martial pride, 
And bring the blush for tyrant rule, and martyr's crimson tide. 
Thou playground of the sycophants who moved their puppet 

kings, 
And wrung the majesty of law to gain ignoble things! 
Thus was foul deed most foully wrought, when in the council hall 
It was decreed that on Glencoe the vengeful stroke must fall. 
Maclan's pledge was in his hands, but malice, gain and hate 
Had steeled the vengeful heart of Stair to wield the sword of 

State, 
The cherished scheme of many days, and many a wakeful night, 
"Shall maudlin pity now," he said, "defraud me of my right? 
Shall the great schemes of State that brought these furrows to 

my brow 
Be set at naught by timid souls, and foiled and baffled now? 
No! I shall stand upon the law! King's Minister am I! 
He hath decreed as I advised, all rebel clans should die: 
But he is lenient of heart, and now delay is crime, 
The rebel rogues have all come in, save one be}^ond the time: 



44 THE STORY OF GLENCOE 

And he the rankest of them all, Maclan of Glencoe, 
But his repentance, all too late; the King shall never know. 
The majesty of law must move in vengeance swift and sure; 
For this defiant, desperate clan demands a desperate cure." 



XXII 

Glencoe's allegiance was withheld, the Sheriff's note ignored. 
Warrant was issued by the King for vengeance, fire and sword. 
Like panther crouching for the leap and hungry for the prey, 
Lord Stair watched the MacDonald clan, impatient of delay. 
He laid his plans, he chose his tools, he fanned the fires of hate. 
And gave the mandate "There must be no prisoners of State! 
Your duty's plain, your hands are free, unfettered by red tape; 
Now prove your loyalty to the King, let not a wretch escape." 
Such was the mandate that went out from high Dun Edin's haH; 
And ere an hour, in eager haste it passed beyond recall. 



XXIII 

GLENLYON SEEKS THE HOSPITALITY OF GLEN- 
COE 

The cold gray mantle of the sea with fringes trailing low, 
Spread o'er the mountain and the moor and over dark Glencoe; 



THE STORY OF GLENCOE 45 

When through the mist a straggling band, like spectres grim and 

gray, 
In martial form and sullen mood filed up the rugged way, 
Till entering the deep defile, the gateway to the glen, 
Athwart the pass stood young Chief John, backed by a score of 

men. 
"Halt!" cried the chief, "What seek ye here? Before ye fur- 
ther go — 
Glenlyon stand! Declare thyself, come ye as friend or foe?" 
Captain Glenlyon then stood forth and laughed a loud ha, ha, 
"Why John, you crack a sturdy joke upon our martial law; 
Come put your dignities aside, and we shall not be slow 
To prove the hospitality, far-famed of your Glencoe. 
Have ye not sworn to serve the King and live a quiet life? 
Has not your brother Sandy made me kinsman by his wife?* 
I come to pay you my respects; and these my sturdy men 
Will gladly stay and rest a while in your secluded glen; 
For we have tramped o'er moor and hill, by order of Lord Stair, 
To show off brave King William's men like cattle at a fair: 
Now we are tired of climbing hills and camping on the moors, 
And nights like these help not our health by sleeping out of doors ; 
The Fort is filled with southern troops, and so to serve their ends 
Our Highland lads are turned adrift, to billet on their friends; 
And thus King William honors you with visit of his men. 
Who, doubtless, in a day or two resume their march again." 

*MacIan's second son was married to a niece of Glenlyon. 



46 THE STORY OF GLENCOE 



XXIV 

Chief John, with eye and ear alert, in feigned composure stood: 
Though truth to tell, the sight of steel stirred up no peaceful 

mood: 
More to his liking had it been, instead of smiles a frown, 
And his hereditary foe had thrown the gauntlet down. 
Instinctive nature was not slow to whisper there and then. 
Within the pass his little band could bar a hundred men: 
But prudence whispered "Have a care, and keep within the law; 
Be not the first against the pact a hostile sword to draw: 
These are the minions of the King whom we are pledged to 

serve. 
And for a time, though not for love, the law we must observe." 
Advancing then with fearless mien he took the proffered hand 
And said, "Glenlyon, we welcome you with all your warlike band; 
Call in your men and rest awhile, and taste our humble fare 
While I send gillies up the glen your quarters to prepare." 
Soon came Maclan with his staff, the head men of the glen. 
Well primed in prudence how to act toward King William's men. 
For now they needs must play the host to those they did not love, 
And it is hard to teach the hawk the manners of the dove: 
But Highland hospitality is strong as Highland hate. 
And just as sacred in the hut as in the halls of state. 
A foe beneath its thatch is safe as in the castle hall. 
And treason to a host is deemed the darkest crime of all; 



THE STORY OF GLENCOE 47 

This was the warrant each man knew should hold a Highland 

heart ; 
And bind alike both foe and friend till friend or foe they part. 
Thus with punctilious care they met; and in the old Chief's 

heart 
There rose the pride of Highland host to play a worthy part. 
And when Glenlyon clasped his hand in smiling merry mood, 
His fears dissolved, he felt assured his tardy pledge held good. 
Then every cottage, house and hut was taxed throughout the glen 
To lodge Glenlyon and his band of well nigh six score men. 
Then there came social calls by day, and revelry by night; 
The hosts were liberal, and the guests profuse in their delight. 
But two unruly inmates dwelt beneath Maclan's roof: 
Against both threats and blandishments their stubborn hearts 

were proof: 
One was old Angus Dhu, the bard, he muttered and he frowned; 
The other was Sith-Fadda-dubh, a rough and shaggy hoilnd,* 
Who bristled up and showed his teeth when the new guests 

drew near. 
And scarce could be controlled whene'er Glenlyon would appear. 
The Chief was grieved and sore perplexed to see their surly mood, 
Yet well he knew their wrath revealed some motive for his good. 
Though most imprudent were it now to show the old time hate: 
Old enmities must be subdued to win the smiles of fate. 
Then sharply to the bard he said: "What spirit haunts you now, 
To bring the lightning to your eye, the thunder to your brow? 

*The dark hound of the long stride. 



48 THE STORY OF GLENCOE 

Its mutterings are heard by day, and in the silent night 
Your wailings like an Ossian dirge for heroes slain in fight. 
What evil genius wrings your heart and clouds your waning 

years, 
And weaves for your declining days a heritage of fears? 
Thou livest in the past too much; the whirling wheels of time 
Have brought round many a woeful change since thou wert in 

thy prime: 
The heroes of the bj^gone years that charmed thy youthful tongue 
Have vanished, and their valiant deeds must be no longer sung. 
The dear old dynasty we loved, for which we fought and bled, 
Seems overthrown, a stranger reigns, and James's hope is dead. 
Our ancient foe sits at our board and sleeps beneath our roof, 
And 'Stair' presumes to strain our pledge by such a bitter proof. 
And wounds our pride to make our foe his instrument of power, 
To blast our hopes of future good by one unguarded hour ; 
But let our patience foil his plans and better serve our own 
When Scotland's exiled King shall come and take his rightful 

throne." 
A moody silence hung a while, like the brief space of dread 
In which expectant Nature waits the tempest overhead; 
But not in tempest tones he spake, but husky-voiced and slow. 
The anguish of a burdened heart began to overflow. 



THE STORY OF GLENCOE 49 

XXV 

THE SEER'S WARNING OF TREACHERY 

"Son of Somhairle!* And worthy the name; 

Heir of the spirit that runs through the years; 
Chief of the clan that is foremost in fame, 

Lauded by minstrels and guarded by seers ! 

From the dim twilight of days long ago 

Children of Cona have heard the refrain; 
True heart in friendship, and terrible foe, 

Strong arm of Scotland and scourge of the Dane. 

When the high councils of shades of the great 

Spirits of heroes in days long ago. 
Gave to thy fathers the care of the gate, 

Heir of Great Fingal, they gave thee Glencoe! 

This as thy portion, O son of the rock, 

Vigilance ever to cunning oppose: 
Stealthy intrigue and the wild battle shock, 

Lurk at thy border in treacherous foes. 

*Somhairle, the Gaelic name, Somerled the English, of the great 
ancestor of the MacDonalds. 



50 THE STORY OF GLENCOE 

When the proud Southron so vauntingly came, 
Spreading his legions to cover the land, 

Bruce, the deliverer, called on thy name — 
Red was the harvest that fell to thy hand. 

Dark "Inverlochy" remembers the day 

When ye went out with the gallant Montrose: 

Gary's wild waters ran red to the Tay. 

When brave Dundee saw the last of his foes. 

Front rank in battle line ever was thine ;* 
Faithful in council and fearless in war, 

Steadfast and true to the old regal line. 
Bound in thy fate to the Jacobite star. 

Now it Is waning, and dim grows its light, 
Now the dear name must not rise to our lips; 

O that mine eyes could be blind to the sight 
When It goes down In its bloody eclipse! 

This was thy portion, O son of the rock: 

Vigilance ever to cunning oppose; 
Stealthy intrigue and the wild battle shock: — 

Lo! thou dost harbor thy treacherous foes! 



*At the Battle of Culloden the MacDonalds were so insulted by their 
ancient position, "right of line," being ignored, that they did not join 
in the battle. 



THE STORY OF GLENCOE 51 

Woe to the day when the children of Ian 

Opened their ears to the craft and the wile, 
Opened their hearts to the traitor Glenlyon, 

Opened their doors to the wolves of Argyle! 

Woe to Strath Cona where feasting is spread, 

Woe to the dwellings where now there is mirth; 

Soon shall thy doorsteps be strewn with the dead, 

Blackened the roof tree and blood stained the hearth! 

Dim grows my sight, and my heart it grows cold, 

Tears have no solace for sorrows like mine! 
Here let me sleep with my fathers of old. 

Last of the Seers of the Ossian line." 

The old man's head drooped on his breast, the weight of four- 
score years 
Was on his brow, and in his heart the burden of the seers 
Which few may know, and only they cast in heroic mould 
Who seek the welfare of their race through sorrows manifold. 
Such as of old in Judah's land in sorrow wept and prayed 
O'er pending doom on blinded souls, by their own hearts 
betrayed. 



52 THE STORY OF GLENCOE 



XXVI 

The old Chief sat in silence long, his look seemed far away, 
His reverence for the dear old seer brought fancj' into play. 
It travelled down the old time paths, and many a valiant deed 
Stirred up the embers of his heart, and spurred the pulses' speed; 
He saw once more the battle smoke, he saw the broad-swords 

gleam. 
Heard the fierce yell of charging ranks and the wild pibroch's 

scream ; 
And ever mingling with each scene and with the din of war 
The sad refrain of the old bard, "Bound to a waning star." 
Then shaking of? his morbid mood and blushing for his fear. 
He strode across the room a while, and thus addressed the seer: 
"Our lot is cast on evil days, our skies are overcast. 
And present gloom looks dark against the glories of the past; 
But you and I are growing old, the world must still move on 
And brighter days shall come again when you and I are gone. 
'Tis true that a usurper rules in good King James's stead. 
But Fortune's wheel may turn again, and honor is not dead ; 
By his command I bow the knee, when he revokes that vow 
He shall repay a thousandfold what pride must sufFer now. 
Though Fortune frowns upon us now, 'tis not the final cast: 
By his command we bide our time and bow before the blast. 
His exiled brother was recalled and set upon the throne, 
And what hath been, may be again, and James come to his own: 



THE STORY OF GLENCOE 53 

So let not pride disturb your heart, nor fears disturb your rest, 
Our loyal service to King James makes William's friend our 

guest. 
And herein lies our safety now, no weapons in the glen, 
We give a welcome to our homes to six score armed men. 
By every hospitable law e'er known on sea or land, 
No guest could stoop to smite his host with nothing in his hand. 
It may not be for love of us King William's men are here, 
But they are men of Highland blood and we have naught to fear. 
So ease your heart, my dear old friend, and cease to fret and 

grieve, 
For doubtless in a day or two our unsought guests will leave. 
And ere they go I have arranged, Glenlj^on and his chief men, 
Shall dine with me and my two sons before they leave the glen. 
So, if such uncongenial guests suit not your present mood, 
Your absence for a day or two might prove our mutual good; 
Go you where you are wont to go when fellowship you crave 
With the great spirits of our clan who meet in Ossian's cave, 
And my brave Ronald too shall go to guard your every need, 
And thus your lofty soul shall feast, while grosser mortals feed 
On the poor husks of sensuous things and know no higher good 
Than ministering to appetite with Nature's common food." 



54 THE STORY OF GLENCOE 

XXVII 

OSSIAN'S CAVE 

The cave of Ossian, hid away in Aonach's rugged breast, 

Was soon prepared to meet the wants of its most honored guest: 

Three stalwart men prepared the way, by toilsome march and 

slow, 
O'er ice clad rocks and snow packed paths where few would dare 

to go; 
They knew each rock and shrub and turn that marked the rugged 

way, 
Where in their youthful summer days their venturous feet would 

stray ; 
But now disguised in winter garb, no timid heart would crave 
To tread the path at such a time to Ossian 's mystic cave. 
There they prepared the old bard's couch with springy heath o'er 

spread 
With the soft covering of the doe, and wreathed around the 

head 
With the red rowan of the ash, entwined with hazel wood, 
Combined to bar all baleful sprites and welcome all the good. 
The glowing turf gave warmth and light, and kindly nature sent 
The mantle of the Western sea to hide them like a tent. 
There oft in other days the bard his footsteps did incline 
To the seclusion of the cave, as to a holy shrine. 



THE STORY OF GLENCOE 55 

There on the eve of great events he dwelt for many days, 
And thence returning poured his song of counsel or of praise. 
But in his latter years, he said, no comfort could he bring 
For a declining dynasty or for an exiled King. 
And thus he drowsed away his days and muttered in the night: 
"O that mine eyes could turn away from that which haunts my 
sight!" 



XXVIII 

THE FIRST NIGHT IN OSSIAN'S CAVE 

The young men slept all undisturbed, as youth and vigor sleeps; 

The old man half reclining sat as one who vigil keeps 

With reverent mien as they who watch in presence of the dead. 

A little while he whispered low, then audibly he said,^ — \ 

"Speak unto me, ye mighty shades, whom blinded mortals dread. 

Ye are the living, free as air, and we on earth the dead, 

We move like misty phantoms rocked by soft winds from the sea, 

We move by impulse all unknown, and know not what shall be. 

To-morrow is the great unknown, the past we partly know. 

Grief cometh soon and lingers long, but wisdom cometh slow: 

Speak unto me great Ossian; speak, as thou didst speak of yore, 

To thy heroic sons who dwelt on Cona's rugged shore! 

Down through the cycles of the years thy spirit moved along. 

Renewing in Strath Cona's bards the legacy of song; 

But I, whom thou hast oft inspired to fire the hearts of men, 



56 THE STORY OF GLENCOE 

Stand barren as a blasted tree that blossoms not again. 
My heart is seared, my lips are sealed, my soul is filled with fears; 
Calamity hangs o'er Strathcoe and I have naught but tears. 
O, speak to me ! that I may speak and give my heart relief 
And warn my people to arise ere wrath be turned to grief; 
And grant to me before in death my tear-dimmed eyes shall close, 
That I shall see my children rise triumphant o'er their foes." 
The old bard's voice sank to a moan, and then he prostrate lay 
Like fallen tree when through the woods the storm hath died 
away. 



XXIX 

OSSIAN SPEAKS TO ANGUS THE BARD 

A spectral form then slowly rose like vapor from the ground 
And slowly rounded into shape; of reverence profound; 
Bearded and tall, in features strong, cast in heroic mould, 
Such as devoted fancy paints of bards and seers of old. 
Pity and love like halo shone about his noble face. 
And to the bard entranced, he spake with tenderness and grace: — 
"Son of the sorrowful heart, the burden of years are upon thee, 
And greater than burden of years, the multiplied burden of sor- 
row: 
The wane of the Jacobite star hath passed down beyond the 

horizon. 
And they who have worshipped the star and bled neath the sheen 
of its glory, 



THE STORY OF GLENCOE 57 

The men who shed blood, but not tears, now weep for the glory 

departed. 
Gloom settles down on the land and woe in the straths of the 

Highlands; 
Flames lick the thatch from the roofs and blood stains the hearths 

of Strath Con a: 
Mothers with slain in their arms now press the white snow for 

a pillow: 
Lowing of cattle resounds from the glades and bleating of goats on 

the mountains: 
Ravens are calling afar on the crags, impatient for light of the 

morning. 
Woe ! Woe ! to Strath Cona's wild stream and mountains beloved 

of Fingal: 
Woe to the home of my youth where the shades of the mighty 

assemble ! 
From the far days of the past, when I dwelt in the garb of the 

mortal 
And moved among men chained to earth, I loved thee O rugged 

Strath Cona ; 
Thy children have been as mine own, I have watched them down 

long generations; 
And peered down the path of the years, and over time's misty 

horizon : 
Away from the glory of war, and longed for a brighter transition: 
And now, O my son, it draws near, but it cometh in blood and 

in sorrow. 



58 THE STORY OF GLENCOE 

The eagles that dwelt in the cliffs and swooped on the prey from 

their eyrie, 
Shall die by a treacherous foe, and not in the glory of battle. 
And the remnant of them that escape shall be scattered abroad 

like the eaglets; 
They shall fly from the ruin of nests, and the tempest shall 

strengthen their pinions: 
They shall fly to the lands far away where the shadow at noon 

leaneth southward: 
And to out lands o'er the western sea, where the sun in its glory 

declineth ; 
And the race that was reared on the rocks and nursed on the 

gleanings of war, 
Shall march in the vanguard of peace, and fight for the building 

of nations. 
And thou, O my son, full of years, the last of the seers of Strath 

Cona; 
Strengthen thy heart for the hour thou shalt sing to the shades 

of thy fathers." 



XXX 

When morning dawned the old bard lay so silent on his bed 
With dreamy eyes so motionless, the young men thought him 

dead : 
With kindly speech and kindlier touch young Ronald made 

advance 



THE STORY OF GLENCOE 59 

And tenderly by slow degrees aroused him from his trance. 
The misty clouds swept overhead, — the denser clouds below, 
And thus shut in, the weary hours dragged tediously and slow. 
But when the shades of night came down, he moved with nervous 

pace. 
As fretted untamed lion moves within his narrow space; 
And nearing to the midnight hour, his pent up soul gave way, — 
"Let me begone," he fiercely said, "I cannot longer stay. 
What ! hear ye not the moaning kine ? the howling of the hound ? 
And chanticleer's defiant note, down on the lower ground? 
O men are duller than the beasts when danger draweth near; 
The very swine predict a storm and sound the notes of fear!" 



XXXI 

CHIEF JOHN CHALLENGES GLENLYON 

Down in the valley far below dark forms moved to and fro, 
And glint of steel, and whispered words passed through the fall- 
ing snow: 
"Ho' who goes there?" cried young Chief John. "Glenlyon, 

what is this? 
Why to your men at dead of night, you secret orders hiss? — 
Why call ye not by bugle call or by the tap of drum? 
And I perceive by twos and threes your straggling heroes come." 
"Now my good host," Glenlyon said, "You do me grievous 
wrong. 



6o THE STORY OF GLENCOE 

You would not have me at this hour parade my martial throng? 
I summon but a score of men to meet a sudden call 
To head off raiders on the moor, then why disturb them all? 
Or why arouse the sleeping glen? Your dark suspicions rise 
To wrong your guests, and in themselves are neither just nor wise: 
Shame on you John! If thought of wrong had come into my 

head 
Would I not warn my kindred here, and blush to eat their bread? 
Go to your home and rest content, and second thoughts will show 
Such dark suspicions ill become a scion of Glencoe." 



XXXII 
THE IRISH CORPORAL'S SIGNIFICANT HINT 

Off half a league another group was crouching in the snow, 
And sharp ears heard them curse the fate that brought them to 

Glencoe : 
Said one, "I am a soldier bold, just for the fun of fighting; 
But such a dirty job as this I never could delight in; 
In all the scrapes where I have been I never felt so scary 
In ten years since I ran away from home in Tipperary; 
And Sergeant Barbour says to me: 'Now corporal go aisy, 
An clip their heads off at a blow, as ye would clip a daisy; 
For if ye fire a single shot ye'U scare away the game. 
And every mother's son of us will hang up for the same. 



THE STORY OF GLENCOE 6i 

Now show your raw Argyle men how to end this bloody scrape; 
Wait for the word ; the orders are, Let not a wretch escape.' 
But between you and I my friends, I was not built to shine 
At playing cut-throat in the dark — that is not in my line — 
I somehow think shots will be fired ! and if in air I dance, 
Tim Brady always was the boy to give poor div'ls a chance." 



XXXIII 

THE MIDNIGHT MASSACRE 

Meanwhile throughout the silent glen, when Nature's balmy 

sleep 
Should seal the eyes and ears of men, and all their senses steep 
In sweet repose: A strange unrest, a dark, suspicious dread, 
Which moving in a Celtic mind will keep a wakeful head: 
Such was the mood that ruled that night, a sense akin to fear — 
A premonition in degree that blossoms in the seer. 
Thus some were watchful through the night, of every move and 

sound, 
They marked the stealthy footfalls tread upon the snowclad 

ground : 
They saw the phantom like deploy, in silent files of four, 
Creep up and crouch, like beasts of prey, beside each cottage door, 
And round the old Chief's home were hid a score of chosen men. 
Eager for the initial sign of carnage in the glen: 



62 THE STORY OF GLENCOE 

When Hark! A tapping at the door, a drowsy voice within: 

"Who's there?" it said. A voice replied, "Make haste and let 
me in, 

'I have a message for the Chief. Glenlyon begs to say 

He has an order from the Fort, to move without delay; 

He sends his greeting and farewell!" — But through the opening 
door 

Speech was cut short by rush of men upon the cottage floor; 

The words of welcome that were meant were in his throat sup- 
pressed 

By half a score of bayonets, thrust into the old Chief's breast. 

The women's screams, the gillie's shout, the brave hound's gallant 
fight, 

Were quickly silenced, and the men went out into the night. 

"Now, move ye cautiously, my men," the cool assassin said; 

"The old fox has run his last raid, make sure his cubs are dead ; 

Then pass the word to fire the roofs along the sleeping glen. 

And leave no hut nor living thing to mark the robbers' den." 



XXXIV 

But the suspicions once aroused were not so soon allayed. 

Maclan's sons were on their guard, and quick provision made 

For hasty flight. They watched their guests with jealous ears 
and eyes, 

And passed the word where'er they could, to guard against sur- 
prise. 



THE STORY OF GLENCOE 63 

The guest of honor in their home — the second in command, 
Suspiciously hilarious, proposed they take a hand 
In their accustomed game of cards, to while away the hour, 
With usquebaugh accompaniment, of potency and power; 
And while dissembling to their guest, to cover up their fear. 
They felt within their inmost hearts some foul event was near. 
It was a game of mutual bluff, and O the stakes ran high. 
For in their hearts the players felt the losing side must die: 
And as they played, with spurious glee, the soldiers lounged about, 
With furtive glances and strained ears, for signal to turn out. 
When suddenly, a scattering fire of crackling muskets spake. 
And in a moment all was dark, and every eye awake: — 
"To arms, my men!" the soldier cried, "Meet me outside the 

door." 
Then as by lightning stroke he fell, all senseless on the floor. 
The soldiers rushed to reach their arms, stacked in an inner room, 
And chieftains, wives and children all, passed out into the gloom, 
While strong arms held the door outside, till all in safety stood 
Upon the neighboring mountain side, hid by the moaning wood. 



XXXV 

Nearby, within a veteran's home, a sergeant and six men. 
Moved by the firing premature, that echoed through the glen, 
Poured out a volley on their hosts and laid the inmates dead. 
All save the veteran, who alone in pleading accents said. 



64 THE STORY OF GLENCOE 

"Ye men arrayed in soldier's garb, grant me a soldier's boon. 

All that were dear to me are dead, and I must follow soon. 

I too am soldier undismayed; I do not fear to die; 

Grant unto me a soldier's death, beneath an open sky." 

Then spake the sergeant to his host, "Now, by the wheel of fate, 

And by the bed whereon I slept, and for the bread I ate, 

A soldier's boon be unto you! File out, men, and prepare. 

And let us pay the score in full out in the open air." 

Four men stept out to pay the debt. The clansman undismayed, 

Stood forth, and seemed to fold his arms beneath his tartan plaid ; 

"Come near me, men," he calmly said. "Kind death I would 

embrace." 
The word was given, and like a flash his plaid spread o'er each 

face ; 
The men fired wild; he, crouching low, like wildcat slipped 

behind. 
And in a moment disappeared, as trackless as the wind. 



XXXVI 

Glenlyon, when he heard the shots, grew furious with rage, 
And cursed the blundering lubberheads, whose folly should engage 
In senseless sounds, when sure success demanded silence grim; 
And every rebel that escaped meant censure upon him: 
He vowed and swore a fearful oath that he who fired a shot 
Would swing upon the nearest tree convenient to the spot. 



THE STORY OF GLENCOE 65 

"Now fire the roofs!' he wildly cried, "and ply the naked steel, 

And woe betide the craven wretch who fails to make them feel 

The righteous vengeance of the Law. Heed neither sex nor age, 

Nor puling child, nor woman's scream, nor man's impotent rage: 

The stern necessity of law forbids all human speech. 

And let your muskets only speak to those beyond your reach." 

But vainly did he curse and rave to his excited men, 

For few could hear while fire and din ran all along the glen: 

Death held high carnival that night. The huts with furnace roar, 

Gave choice of fiery death within, or cold steel at the door. 

And they who baffled fire and steel, how many? None may 

know, 
Slept their last sleep on mountain side, beneath the falling snow. 



XXXVII 

But to return to Ossian's Cave. The young men ill at ease 
By the persistence of the bard, and with desire to please 
His fevered fancy, left him there, to Ronald's tender care. 
For he alone could soothe his heart and all his fancies share. 
When suddenly a ruddy glare lit up the mist below, 
Like that which crowns the mountain peaks when summer sun- 
sets glow; 
Swift rose the crackling musket shots, the shouts of struggling 

men. 
The women's screams, — the children's cries, along the narrow 
glen! 



66 THE STORY OF GLENCOE 

Through all that night in wild Strath Coe defenceless blood was 

shed 
By those who half a month had shared their bounty and their 

bed. 
Then silence fell upon the glen, and all the morning gray 
The sunlight struggled through the mist, to semblance of the day, 
But mist and smoke commingled lay o'er the appalling sight, 
As if to cover from the day the horror of the night. 



XXXVIII 

Up at the cave brave Ronald strove with pity, rage and grief 
His duty kept him with the bard, his heart was with his chief. 
And all night long the old bard cried with broken prayer and 

moan: 
"O give me light that I may go and mingle with my own ; 
O let me see my chief once more before mine eyes shall close, 
And let me bless Strath Cona's men and curse their brutal foes!" 
And soon as light sufficient came to show one step ahead, 
Adown the steep with many a slip, o'er dangerous paths they 

sped. 
And when at last at noontide hour to Cona's stream they came. 
The bard exhausted, paused to rest on rock that bare his name; 
For often here in summer nights he sat as in a dream 
And taught his muse to mingle with the music of the stream. 
And Ronald from his charge released, then bounded like a roe 
To where Maclan's home had been. He paused and stooping low 



THE STORY OF GLENCOE 67 

To pass the ruined lintel — .he peered within the room 
To make his eyes familiar with the darkness of the gloom — 
There lay the chief upon the hearth, his wife upon the bed, 
And hungry ghouls tore with their teeth the jewels from the dead ; 
He rushed upon the foremost wretch and felled him with a blow, 
The others met him on their swords, and Ronald was laid low: 
A clansman's glory came to him, through service bright and brief; 
He served his clan and country well, and died beside his chief. 



XXXIX 

THE LAST SONG OF ANGUS, THE BARD 

The old bard sat upon the rock, his eyes gazed all around, 
As if to take a last fond look at memory's hallowed ground; 
But narrow was the prospect now, for mist and smoke hung low, 
And mortal eyes could not discern the dull clouds from the snow; 
But not with mortal eyes he gazed, for every wtU known scene 
Was on the tablets of his heart, and memory kept them green; 
He looked in fancy on the cliff, where in his boyish pride 
He climbed up to the eagle's nest on Beall's rugged side; 
And standing on the giddy height he cast a wondering look, 
When nature opened to his eyes, her wondrous picture book; 
He thought upon the raptured hour, when with a fluttering heart, 
He heard old Ossian whisper low, "Come, learn the minstrel's 
art." 



68 THE STORY OF GLENCOE 

He thought of one he wooed and won, and loved with tender care, 

Robina! of the lovelit eyes, and of the raven hair, 

Who drooped and died, when three brave sons marched with 

Strath Cona's men, 
To fight for country and King James, and came not back again. 
And thus the old bard vaguely mused around his loved Glencoe, 
As old men's minds will wander off to scenes of long ago. — 
When suddenly his dreams dissolved by sound of pipe and drum, 
And struggling o'er the rugged way, four hundred soldiers come. 
They were belated from the fort, impeded by the snow; 
Their purpose was to bar each path of exit from Glencoe. 
Their orders were to "close the trap, and make sure of the game" — 
"Let not a rebel wretch escape that bears MacDonald's name." 
And when he saw the murderous band so swiftly march along 
The narrow Strath, he raised his voice, and broke forth into 
song — 



XL 



"Farewell, O Strath Cona! the land of my love! 
Thy dark whispering pines, and the mountains above, 
Where the misty clouds rest, and the thunderbolts dwell, 
Are dear to my heart. O Strath Cona, farewell! 

Farewell, O my kindred! Ye sons of the rock 
Who revel in tempest and wild battle shock; 



THE STORY OF GLENCOE 69 

The thunder of war! it hath long been our knell, 
But it bringeth no terror, O kindred, farewell. 

Ye mountains of Fingal's and Ossian's pride. 
Where spirits of heroes and bards still abide. 
When summer winds whisper, or winter blasts shriek; 
The dull ear of mortals know not what ye speak. 

But soon I shall join them and meet with my own, 
The hearts that have loved, and the eyes that have shone; 
And then in their councils of this day I'll tell, 
Till then, O Strath Cona, Strath Cona, farewell!" 



XLI 



The old bard's quavering voice was hushed, still with prophetic 

air, 
He crouched with head upon his hands, as one who weeps in 

prayer ; 
Then looking round ; an idle group drawn by their curious mood, 
Paushed by the stream, and back a space, Captain Glenlyon stood. 
A thrill of vigor shook the bard ; he bounded to his feet ; 
His voice broke out in thunder tones; his eyes flashed lightning 

heat : — 
"And thou, O Glenlyon! Accurs't be thy name! 
Thou prince among traitors the blackest in fame; 
The brand of old Cain on thy brow have a place, 
That time's slow erosion shall never efface! 



70 THE STORY OF GLENCOE 

Of men be ye scorned, and by women abhorred: 
Proud honor disown thee, and break thy foul sword ;* 
May thorns be thy bed when thou liest to rest; 
And barren the wife who takes thee to her breast; 
This horror of night haunt thee still when awake: 
The peace thou shalt crave may you never o'ertake: 
Thy sickness, thy death, may no mortal bemoan: 
Thy soul go unshrived, and thy grave be unknown." 



XLII 

Glenlyon trembled where he stood ; grim terror blanched his 

cheek : — 
"Ye cowards!" he cried, "Why stand ye there to hear the dotard 

shriek ? 
Obey your orders. Sergeant! — Fire, and stop this horrid din!" — 
A flash, a moan, and Cona leaped to take the old bard in: 
In glad embrace enfolding him, it kissed his brow with spray; 
The surging waters rushed along and bore him far away, 
Far from the hands of cruel foes, and from the haunts of men — 
The bard of Cona sleeps no more in Cona's haunted glen ; 
The waters were his funeral train; they bore him to the sea; 
Old ocean chants his coronach; his spirit roameth free. 

*The breaking of the sword is the last act in degrading a soldier. 



THE STORY OF GLENCOE 71 

XLIII 

CONCLUSION 

Glencoe! O Glencoe! In the gloom of thy woe 

Stands the deathless reproach of a treacherous foe! 

There the gray clouds shall weep, and the dark pines shall sigh, 

And the lone owl shall screech, and the raven shall cry 

In the haunts and the homes of the heroes of yore, 

Where the voice of the clansman is heard nevermore. 

And the sons of the stranger shall come from afar, 

The captains of peace, and the heroes of war; 

And with uncovered heads they shall look on the scene 

Where the humble abodes of their fathers have been. 

They shall look on the mountains beneath whose dark shade 

Foundations of strength and endurance were laid 

In the race still undaunted, whose sword, tongue and pen 

Proclaim them afar to be leaders of men. 

XLIV 

O sons of the Somerled! Heroes of old! 
Whose line hath descended through ages untold: 
Through long generations undimmed shone thy star, 
The truest in friendship, the bravest in war: 



72 THE STORY OF GLENCOE 

The nurslings of hardship, so quick to discern, 

So swift to avenge, and so slow to unlearn. 

The rude honest impulse of stern mother's breast, 

Whose scanty resources ne'er wooed thee to rest; 

Thy lullaby song was the harp of the pines. 

When stirred by the breeze when the twilight declines: 

And the crooning of deeds that j^our fathers had done 

On the red fields of strife, where their laurels were won 

O rude was thy homeland, and rugged thy life, 

With man and with nature, unending thy strife; 

And true to thy mission, and true to thy day, 

The Fates ne'er designed thee for lingering decay. 

But woe to the traitor who sat at thy hearth, 

And smote thee unguarded and bore thee to earth. 

Be theirs the foul stain of an undying shame, 

And thine the proud boast of an untarnished name. 

And Cona's dark waters shall chant the refrain 

Of requiem unending for them that were slain; 

Whose bones lay un-graved on the bleak mountain side, 

Or charred in the ruins of homes where they died: 

O cruel was the pathway by which thou hast trod. 

Through the malice of men, to the mercy of God. — 

A son of the race that was wronged long ago 

Lays a garland of song on the graves of Glencoe. 



APPENDIX 



Facsimile of Major Duncansons Order to Captain Robert Camp- 
bell of GlenlyoTij for the Massacre of Glencoe. The sup- 
posed original was sold in London for $7,000, May 29, 
1907. 

<.ms^ '^m<Lnj^, Z/;hf y.^ c^nr^ ^ ^^i^i^yrt, i^&u^'cTL^ 







TKTu a Tntun. 



2^ (^ i^/^h^^ Jiri/hf^ 






You are hereby ordered to fall upon the Rebells the McDonalds of 
Glenco and putt all to the sword under seventy. You are to have a 
special care that the old ffox and his sones doe upon no account escape 
your hands. You are to secure all the avenues that no man escape. 
This you are to putt in executione att fyve of the clock precisely ; 
and by that time or verie shortly after it I'le strive to be att you 



WHO WAS THE HEAVY VILLAIN IN THE 
GLENCOE TRAGEDY? 

The massacre of Glencoe is a sore spot in Scottish history. 
To mention it, is to touch a tender spot in every Scottish heart, 
and after a lapse of over two hundred years, there is sti^ a divers- 
ity of opinion as to vi^ho was to blame for that foulest blot on 
British history. We say "British history" advisedly, for some of 
its foul roots run over into England, and the deed was perpetrated 
under the warrant and signature of William, known as William 
of Orange — ^ son-in-law of the fugitive King James. But the 
measure of his guilt is the largest question in the discussion of 
the disgraceful affair, and a few simple facts, well established by 
subsequent investigation, may help to set him in his proper light 
in relation to it. 

John Graham, of Claverhouse, known to the Jacobites as 
"Bonnie Dundee," and to his enemies as "The Bloody Claver- 
house," was really the last heroic leader of the Jacobite cause. He, 
with the Jacobite clans — notably the MacDonalds and the Cam- 

with a stronger party: if I doe not come to you att fyve yoii are not to 
tary for me butt to fall on. This is by the King's speciall command 
for the good and safety of the country that these miscreants be cutt off 
root and branch. See that this be putt in executione without feud or- 
favour else you may expect to be dealt with as one not true to King nor 
Government, nor a man fitt to cary Commissione in the King's serv- 
ice. Expecting you will not faill in the fullfilling hereof, as you love 
your selfe I subscribe these with my hand at Balicholis ffeb. 12, 1692. 

RO. DUNCANSON, 

ffor ther Maties Service, 
To Capt. 
Robert Campbell 
of Glenlyon. 



76 APPENDIX TO THE STORY OF GLENCOE 

erons of Lochiel — won a splendid victory against great odds, and 
inflicted a terrible defeat, which ended in the total rout of the 
army of King William, under General Mackay, in the narrow 
defile known as the Pass of Killiecrankie ; but it was a dearly 
bought victory. The idolized leader, who had won the hearts of 
the Highlanders, fell mortally wounded, and died upon the field, 
and soon after the Highlanders disbanded and went to their 
homes, for the want of a trusted leader. 

In 1 69 1, two years after the Battle of Killiecrankie, it was 
determined at Kensington, says Macaulay, "that a sum of twelve 
or fifteen thousand pounds should be laid out in quieting the High- 
lands." 

It was supposed that with the extreme poverty and high mili- 
tary spirit of the Highlanders, such a mass of treasure could not 
fail to win them over to the cause of King William. 

With this object in view, the money was entrusted to John, 
Earl of Breadalbane, the head of a branch of the great house of. 
Campbell, and Macaulay says of him: "He ranked high among 
the petty princes of the mountains, and seems to have united two 
sets of vices: in his castle among the hills he had learned the bar- 
barian pride and ferocity of a Highland chief; in the council 
chamber at Edinburgh, he had contracted the deep taint of treach- 
ery and corruption; he had joined and betrayed every party in 
turn ; he had sworn fealty to William and Mary, and had plotted 
against them." Such was the man who was entrusted with the 
money with which to purchase the peace of the Highlands. He 
invited the Jacobite chiefs to a conference at his residence in Glen- 
orchy, but the conference was foredoomed to failure, for they were 



APPENDIX TO THE STORY OF GLENCOE 77 

not at war with the government so much as they were at war 
with MacCullum-Mohr, which was the general term as applied 
to the Campbells, that being the patronymic name of the clan, and 
the title of its chief. 

The neighboring chiefs had a well grounded suspicion and 
distrust of the Campbells, and had reasons for believing that the 
scheme was advanced more in the selfish interests of the Camp- 
bells than for love of King William or his government. The very 
ground upon which they were invited to hold the conference had 
been confiscated from the MacGregors; so also was that of Glen- 
lyon, another branch of the Campbells. 

The encroachments of this avaricious clan are enumerated 
in the wild and defiant chant of the outlawed MacGregors by 
Sir Walter Scott. 

"Glenorchy's proud mountain, Col-churn and her towers, 
Glen-strae and Glenlyon, no longer are ours; 
We're land-less, land-less, land-less, Gregalach." 

Maclan of Glencoe was nearest neighbor to Breadalbane, 
and it appears significant that the most prominent feature of the 
conference was that Breadalbane charged Maclan with having 
allowed his people to run off with some of his (Breadalbane's) 
cattle. This conference ended (perhaps as designed) in a quar- 
rel. It does not appear that any of the chiefs ever received a 
penny of the money entrusted to Breadalbane, and when the Privy 
Council later demanded an accounting for the money, he sent the 
curt reply: "The money is spent, and the Highlanders are quiet, 
and that is the best way of accounting between gentlemen." 



78 APPENDIX TO THE STORY OF GLENCOE 

In August of the same year — 1691 — a proclamation was 
issued by the Privy Council, under the direction of Sir John Dal- 
rymple (Master of Stair, as he was called), Secretary of State for 
Scotland, calling upon the chiefs of the clans to formally submit 
to the government and take the oath of allegiance to William 
and Mary before the first day of January, 1692, on pain of fire 
and sword. 

The political movements and intrigues of the time brought 
together two men, very different in temperament, training and 
disposition, but they became strongly knit together in their friend- 
ship by the common desire to subdue the Jacobite clans. 

The legal mind of Stair sought to bring them under legal 
restraint, and make them a powerful auxiliary for law and order In 
the service of the government. Breadalbane, on the other hand, 
sought the humiliation, or utter destruction, of his hereditary foes, 
whose enmity had been well earned and paid for in many a bloody 
feud, and running through many generations. 

The cool, calculating methods of Stair seemed to have mould- 
ed and disciplined the ferocity of Breadalbane into the forms of 
legality: and the barbarian thirst for revenge and blood seems to 
have impregnated every fibre and thought of the legal advocate, 
as is exemplified in such sentiments as are expressed in his dis- 
patches. 

Scott says: "Breadalbane and Stair were greatly disap- 
pointed and irritated against those chiefs and tribes, who, being 
refractory, had caused a breach in their favorite scheme. Their 
thoughts were now turned to revenge, and it appears from Stair's 
correspondence that he nourished a secret hope that several of 



APPENDIX TO THE STORY OF GLENCOE 79 

the most stubborn chiefs would hold out beyond the time, in 
which case it was determined that the punishment would be of the 
most severe and awful description. 

A month before the expiration of the time, Stair intimated 
that the government was determined to utterly destroy some of 
the clans, and he hoped "the MacDonalds of Glencoe would fall 
into the net." Such messages as "Maul the wretches in the win- 
ter when they cannot escape"; "Don't trouble the government 
with prisoners": "To plunder their land or drive off their cattle 
would only make them more desperate; they must be all slaugh- 
tered, and the manner of execution must be sure, secret and 
effectual." 

In order to carry out such fiendish instructions, the instru- 
ments best fitted for the work were chosen. Before the end of 
January, 1692, a party of the Earl of Argyle's regiment, com- 
manded by Captain Campbell of Glenlyon, approached Glencoe. 
Maclan's sons, with a body of men went out to meet them and 
demanded whether they came as friends or foes? The officer 
replied that they came as friends, being sent to get quarters for a 
short time, in order to relieve the garrison at Fort William, which 
was crowded. On this they were welcomed with all the hospi- 
tality which the chief and his people had the means of extending 
to them. 

That the laws of domestic affection might be violated at the 
same time as those of humanity and hospitality, it should be men- 
tioned that one of Maclan's sons — "Alaster" — was married to a 
niece of Glenlyon, captain of the soldiers, and thus through the 
sacred ties of relationship was the chief instrument of infamy and 



8o APPENDIX TO THE STORY OF GLENCOE 

destruction introduced into the homes of a defenceless people, for 
moved by a suspicion that having taken the oath, there might be 
a general disarmament, the weapons of the clans were hidden 
away. 

But apart from the mere act of butchery by which thirty- 
eight defenceless persons were slain in the night, besides a prob- 
ably greater number who died from exposure in the mountains 
in the snowstorm then raging, there stand out distinctly the bold 
figures of Breadalbane and Stair — the generalissimo and the 
strategist of the infernal campaign — equal in infamy, though 
moved by different motives. There also stand out two men to 
the honor of humanity, whose names should be remembered with 
gratitude — Colonel Hill, the governor of Fort William, to whom 
Maclan tendered his oath of allegiance. He had no power to re- 
ceive it, and there his duty ended. He was a soldier and not a 
civil officer; but he had a chivalrous feeling of pity for the old 
chief, who pleaded for the children of his clan, and he gave him a 
letter to Sir Colin Campbell, the Sheriff of Argyle, he being the 
nearest civil officer, requesting him to receive the "belated lost 
sheep", and administer the oath, that he might have the advantage 
of the indemnity, though late in claiming it. Maclan hastened 
to Inverary, without even turning aside to enter his own house, 
though he passed within a mib of it. 

Sir Colin Campbell showed a spirit of magnanimity and 
kindness unusual in that age and country. Here was an old 
hereditary enemy of his clan in sore distress, and he pitied him; 
he administered to him the oath of allegiance to King William, 
and doubtless he thought of how fickle and uncertain was his 



APPENDIX TO THE STORY OF GLENCOE 8i 

own loyalty, for was not his own chief — MacCuUum-Mohr — ever 
ready to trim his sails to the favoring breeze. 

The sheriff immediately sent letters to Fort William, and 
to the Council in Edinburgh to stay all hostile acts against Mac- 
Ian of Glencoe, he having taken the oath, and the old chief went 
back to his home, where he supposed he might dwell in safety 
under the protection of the government to which he had sworn 
allegiance. 

Then followed the most atrocious act of this most malignant 
conspiracy. The sheriff's letter was never laid before the council 
by the Secretary of State. The certificate of Maclan's oath was 
never produced^ and it seems highly probable that the fact of that 
chief's submission was concealed from the King. "But If it be 
admitted that William acted under misrepresentations, it is 
remarkable that these fatal instructi'ons are both superscribed and 
subscribed by the King himself, whereas in most state papers the 
sovereign only subscribes, and they are countersigned by the Secre- 
tary of State, who is answerable for their tenor, a responsibility 
which Stair on that occasion was probably not ambitious of claim- 
ing." 

But if the King was deceived by his trusted Secretary of 
State, It does not appear that he was greatly concerned about it, 
nor is it to be supposed that he, a foreign born prince, could have 
known all the intricacies and Intrigues of Scottish politics in those 
troublous times, and much less could he have known of the proud 
spirit and loyalty of the Jacobite clans. He only knew them as 
lawless barbarians, who a few years before had inflicted a terrible 
defeat upon his army at Kllliecrankie. 



82 APPENDIX TO THE STORY OF GLENCOE 

It is not to be believed that he remained in ignorance as to 
whether his order was executed, and yet the terrible tragedy was 
so effectually hushed up that three years elapsed before it was 
sufficiently known even in Scotland to arouse the indignation of 
the nation. An investigation and punishment of the murderers 
was demanded. A royal commission was appointed, which made 
laborious efforts to exonerate the King, and reported that "the 
instructions of Stair was the warrant for the slaughter; that it 
was unauthorized by His Majesty's order, and that it was 
worthy of no other name save that of a most barbarous murder." 
Finally it named the Master of Stair as the devisor, and the vari- 
ous military officers employed as the perpetrators of the same, and 
suggested that His Majesty call home Glenlyon and the other 
murderers to be tried, or to do otherwise as His Majesty pleased. 
And it seems to have pleased His Majesty to do nothing in regard 
to the matter. Such was the outcome and the end of the royal 
commission. In the present age it would doubtless have been 
called a "white-washing commission." Its main object seems to 
have been to find a "scapegoat" whose enmity was least to be 
dreaded. The time-honored tradition that the King could do no 
wrong was not yet entirely obsolete with the courtiers. 

But what of Breadalbane? Behind him stood the most 
powerful clan in the Highlands, and his name does not appear in 
the report, notwithstanding the fact that he was the only one who 
profited by the consummation of the foul conspiracy. 

From the day that Stair, the polished gentleman, the jurist 
and the scholar, came under the influence of the strong, master- 
ful and malignant spirit of Breadalbane, his nature gradually 



APPENDIX TO THE STORY OF GLENCOE 83 

changed, and we find him wholly dominated by the strong will 
of the master spirit, while he in turn became the trusted minister 
and secret advisor of the King. 

All evidence points to Breadalbane as the heavy villain! 
Stair the catspaw! King William the dupe! and an old and 
patriotic clan the victims! 

That the clan was not entirely blotted out was due to the 
providential intervention of a heavy snow storm, which delayed 
the troops from Fort William from arriving in time to "close 
the trap," as the order stated. 

Sir Walter Scott, in summing up the story of the massacre, 
concludes with an anecdote, which was the subject of a poem, 
which appeared in The Caledonian in June, 1902, which shows 
how the descendants of the remnant that escaped from the mas- 
sacre acted toward their old enemy after the lapse of half a 
century. 

THE MEN OF GLENCOE 

When the Clans of the North like a torrent swept down, 
To win for Prince Charlie a kingdom and crown. 
From Highland and island, from Moorland and glen, 
Came forth the swift streamlets of brave Highland men. 

The towns of the Lowlands were stricken with fear, 
The troops of the Southland were scattered like deer; 
Like hirelings, half-hearted, they cared not to stand 
When the sons of the heather swept over the land. 



84 APPENDIX TO THE STORY OF GLENCOE 

One night when encamped by the mansion of Stair, 
Said the Prince to Lord Murray, "My lord, have a care; 
We are camping to-night upon treacherous ground. 
Have the eye of the owl and the ear of the hound. 

"Though brave are our Clansmen, and laggard the foe, 
There is danger to-night from the men of Glencoe, 
And I fear that our campfires shall pale in the glare 
That shall rise from the roofs of the home of Lord Stair. 

"We must watch them to-night!" But the word was not slow 
To reach to the ears of the men of Glencoe — 
"What! watch us?" they cried. "No! that never shall be, 
And Prince Charlie shall know the MacDonalds are free." 

Then up strode the chief, and his bearing was high. 

With a storm on his brow, and the fire in his eye. 

And with courteous salute said, " 'Twere well you should know 

There is honor and pride in the men of Glencoe. 

"We serve you free-hearted, no hirelings are we, 
Rude men from the mountains, uncouth we may be; 
But craven dishonor, a friend or a foe 
Hath never yet found in the men of Glencoe. 

"On the field or the march, have you heard a complaint? 
The pride of our Clan is our ample restraint. 
And our honor demands that the home of our foe 
Shall be guarded to-night by the men of Glencoe. 



APPENDIX TO THE STORY OF GLENCOE 85 

"We pledge you our honor — I pledge you my head, 
And swear by the reverence we owe to our dead, 
Who died in the night when the hand of our guest 
Spared not son, sire nor mother, nor babe at the breast. 

"And fear not dishonor shall come to your cause 
From men whose high spirit is stronger than laws. 
It were well for your cause, and 'twere ill for the foe 
Had you ten thousand more like the men of Glencoe." 

That night the MacDonald men marched round the walls. 
They guarded the gates, and they strode through the halls, 
But no midnight alarm disturbed the still air 
When the men of Glencoe kept the mansion of Stair. 

And long to their honor the tale shall be told, 
No trinket for trophy, nor lamb from the fold, 
Was missed in the morning, nor token of foe 
Was left for Lord Stair by the men of Glencoe. 



LAYS OF THE OLD LAND 

O Caledonia, stern and wild. 
Meet nurse for a poetic child. 

—Scott. 



LAYS OF THE OLD LAND 89 



SCOTIA 

Scotia, dear beloved land where first I saw the light, 

When shall thy mountains wild and grand rise on my raptured 

sight? 
When shall I see the tempest break on Staffa's storm-swept isle, 
Or see the summer sunset gild the mountains of Argyle? 

1 long to see my native land with all its storied scenes. 

Whose recollections thrill my heart and haunt me in my dreams; 
For thou art freedom's holy land, unfettered still and free. 
The foot of conqueror ne'er found a resting place in thee. 

When Rome's proud legions swept the earth, or Vikings swept 

the sea. 
Thy rugged sons all unsubdued still kept thy mountains free. 
And heedless of the glittering fame that wins the world's applause, 
What deep libations thou hast poured in freedom's holy cause! 

When Agricola's conquering hosts swept northward like a flood, 
Till sparkling Isla flowed like wine, with Caledonian blood, 
Then backward from the Grampian peaks old Rome recoiled 

again, 
Her line of conquest sharply drawn by stubborn Highland men. 

The Dane hath dyed thy rivers red, and fattened Barry's sand, 
Where the brave Thistle first was crowned the guardian of the 
land ; 



90 LAYS OF THE OLD LAND 

The land of legendary lore, of sagas and of seers, 

Where Dane and Scot so bravely fought for half a thousand years. 

And when the haughty Southron came to chain a vassal slave, 
His army and his pride both found at Bannockburn a grave; 
And kings and tyrants oft have found, with all their vaunted 

powers, 
The God of Battles hath a hand in this dear land of ours. 

No lust of conquest ever stained the sword that Scotia wields, 
But it hath swung for liberty upon a thousand fields: 
Untarnished is thy modest fame, unclouded be thy star, 
The foremost in the arts of peace, and in the ranks of war. 

O rugged, fair and glorious land! the land of love and song, 
Around thy name how many sweet and hallowed memories 

throng; 
They rise sublime as purple peaks above the silent glens. 
And sweet as briar at gloaming hour, along thy straths and dens. 

How rich and varied are the hues of Nature's verdant loom, 
By river bank and gowan lea, and haughs of golden broom. 
And O the thrilling melody ! when tuneful laverocks hover 
Above their treasures lowly hid among the fragrant clover. 

O friends and scenes of childhood's days, so doubly dear to me. 
When seen through all the mist of years across life's stormy sea: 
One prayer ariseth In my heart: "Before life's voyage Is o'er, 
God grant my longing eyes to see the dear old land once more." 



LAYS OF THE OLD LAND 91 



GOD BLESS THE DEAR AULD LAND 

When friens and brithers far frae hame 

Sit down in social glee, 
To crack o' days o' Auld Lang Syne, 

An' friens ayont the sea 
There comes a tinglin' o' the bluid — 

A claspin' o' the hand, 
And ilka heart says to itsel' 

"God bless the dear auld land." 
Now let each loyal heart speak o'ot, 

Till like an anthem grand, 
Auld Scotia's sons sing round the earth, 

God bless the dear auld land. 

Nae son o' Scotia needs to blush 

To own his dear auld mither. 
Nor e'en be flattered though a king 

Should own him for a brither, 
For Scotia's sons are free by richt, 

An' not by royal favor; 
Be thankit, Lord ! for loyal hearts 

An' strong richt arms to save her. 
Sae let us sing a freeman's sang 

Till like an anthem grand, 
Auld Scotia's sons sing round the earth, 

God bless the dear auld land. 



92 LAYS OF THE OLD LAND 

O Scotia! Loved in every land, 

Thy sons ayont the flood 
Still pledge to thee their strong right hand, 

Their honor and their blood. 
Thy rugged bosom ne'er had room 

For conqueror nor slave, 
An' Scotia till the crack o' doom 
Shall aye be free and brave. 
Sae let us sing a freeman's sang 

Till like an anthem grand, 
Auld Scotia's sons sing round the earth, 

God bless our native land. 



FAREWELL TO BONNIE SCOTLAND 

The light fades in the western sky, 

The weary seagulls landward fly, 

And far away a golden haze, 

Like memory of happy days, 

Hangs o'er the hills o' Scotland! 
Wi' a' the pain that love can feel, 
The love o' hearts baith true and leal, 
Wi' tearful e'e we say fareweel — 
Fareweel to bonnie Scotland ! 

And when I lay me down to rest, 
Like sobbing child on mother's breast, 



LAYS OF THE OLD LAND 93 

There, rocking to a pensive rhyme, 

The great ship's throbbing heart beats time — 

Fareweel, fareweel, to Scotland ! 

Wi' a' the pain that love can feel. 

The love o' hearts baith true and leal, 

Wi' tearful e'e we say fareweel — 

Fareweel to bonnie Scotland! 

Oh land whose restless children roam 
O'er sea and land to find a home ; 
However fair that home may be, 
The heart is anchored fast to thee, 
O Scotland, bonnie Scotland! 

Wi' a' the pain that love can feel, 

The love o' hearts baith true and leal, 

Wi' tearful e'e we say fareweel — 

Fareweel to bonnie Scotland! 

O Scotia, ever dear to me. 
Where'er I roam by land or sea. 
May ill befa' baith me an' mine, 
If in our hearts should e'er decline 
The love o' bonnie Scotland. 

Wi' a' the pain that love can feel, 

The love o' hearts baith true and leal, 

Wi' tearful e'e we say fareweel — 

God bless thee, bonnie Scotland! 



94 LAYS OF THE OLD LAND 



A WEE SPRIG O' HEATHER 

A wee sprig o' heather frae ower the saut sea, 
Brocht my heart to my mou' and the tear to my e'e, 
And the freends o' lang syne a' sae croodit th'gether 
Were pressed to my lips in that wee sprig o' heather. 

O wee sprig o' heather frae land o' my birth, 
Sweet emblem o' a' that is dearest on earth, 
Ye kindle anew a' the heart hungry pain. 
That langs for the heather-clad mountains again. 

O land where the joys o' my childhood were sped, 
O land for whose freedom my forefathers bled, 
Thy children may roam to the ends o' the earth, 
But their hearts aye are leal to the land o' their birth. 

O freends that I love in the land o' the West! 
O freends o' the land I love dearest and best! 
At the last lang fareweel when you lay me to rest, 
Let a wee sprig o' heather be laid on my breast. 



O LASSIE, MIND YER MITHER'S WORDS 

O lassie, mind yer mither's words, 
And heed them while yer young: — 



LAYS OF THE OLD LAND 95 

A bashfu' wooer's better far 

Than ane that's glib o' tongue; 
It is na aye the leal true heart 

Wha's passion is maist Strang: 
Nor is it aye the constant bird 

That sings the sweetest sang. 

If some lad praise yer bonnie face, 

Or stroke yer glossy hair. 
Or sing aboot yer form an' grace, 

Beware my lass! beware! 
It may be that he means it a' ; 

I dinna say it's wrang. 
But dinna throw yer heart awa' 

For only silly sang. 

Love at first sicht may be a' richt, 

But be a little blate, 
An' keep yer heid aboon yer heart 

In choosin' o' a mate; 
An' gin he ask yer heart an' hand, 

Look weel afore ye leap: 
For love that canna bide a wee, 

Is unco hard to keep. 



96 LAYS OF THE OLD LAND 

ON DUNDEE LAW 
A Picture from Memory 

A hilltop on the banks of Tay, 

Above the busy town, 
Upon the right the plumed Balgay, 

And woods of Camperdown. 

Beneath me lies the busy town, 

Where labor's pulses beat, 
Wreathed in its aerial carbon crown, 

O'er many a winding street, 

And there the venerable tower. 

Its hoary head still rears, 
The guardian of the passing hour 

Throughout a thousand years. 

Beneath its shade brave "Wallace Wight" 

Struck the first fateful blow, (') 
That led to many a gallant fight 

Against a tyrant foe. 

(i) Beneath its shade brave "Wallace Wight" 

Struck the first fateful blow. 

The Old Tower in Dundee is supposed to have been built in the 

tenth century. It was doubtless used as a watch-tower in troublous times. 

The town, though much older, clustered and grew around the tower as a 

central figure. There is a legend that when Wallace was a student in 



LAYS OF THE OLD LAND 97 

And just beyond the misty haze 

And hum of busy life. 
The spreading Firth, its tranquil bays, 

And wooded hills of Fife. 

And eastward where a truceless war 

Piles up the old debris 
Of crumbled Grampians, spreading far, 

To bar the Northern sea. 

And out at sea, unseen by day, 

From Law top's grassy height, 
I oft have watched the flashing ray 

Of Inch-cape's circling light, 

Where "Ralph the Rover" long ago, 

As Southey loved to tell, (-) 
Found his reward in doom of woe. 

Where he had sunk the bell. 

Dundee, the English garrison made themselves obnoxious to the inhabit- 
ants by freely helping themselves ta whatever they wanted. One day 
Wallace saw a "fishwife" struggling with a soldier who wanted to 
appropriate some of her fish. Wallace resented the outrage ; there was a 
fight, and as a consquence a dead soldier, and Wallace had to flee from 
the town. 

(2) "Where Ralph the Rover long ago." 
See Southey's poem, "The Inch-cape Rock." 



9S LAYS OF THE OLD LAND 

And southward, where the white-capped bay 

Kisses the hoary fane 
Where bones of loved "Saint Andrew" lay 

And gave the place a name. 

Whose name and fame hath gone abroad 

In glory and renown; 
There love of liberty and God 

Won many a martyr's crown. 

There Scotland's proto-martyr died 

In the fair flush of youth ;(^) 
And by his death spread far and wide 

The seeds of gospel truth. 

There Christ-like Wishart, braving fate, 

The path of duty trod, 
Till from the faggot fires of hate {*) 

His soul went up to God. 

(3) "There Scotland's proto-Martyr died." 
Patrick Hamilton, a young Scottish nobleman, while on the continent 
became imbued with the teachings of Luther, and the doctrines of the 
Reformation, and freely spoke of them when he returned to Scotland. A 
snare was laid for him by Cardinal Beaton and the Roman Hierarchy at 
St. Andrews. He was brought to a formal trial, and condemned to die 
the death of a heretic, and was burned at the stake on the last day of 
February, 1527. Aged 24 years. The tidings of his cruel death, his 
youth, and his nobility of birth and character, stirred up a spirit of 
inquiry among the learned men, which finally led to the overthrow of 
the Roman power and influence in Scotland. 

(4) "There Christ-like Wishart, braving fate, 
The path of duty trod." 
Nineteen years after the death of Patrick Hamilton, another victim 



LAYS OF THE OLD LAND 99 

There Knox, like an Elijah, rose, 

As with a mighty flail, 
And smote the idols of God's foes, 

The modern priests of Baal. (^) 

Down on the left from Barry's sand, 

To Panmure's lofty tower. 
There's not a rock nor rood of land 

Unscarred by battle hour. 

Here, year by year, the Danish hordes 

For centuries came down 
To reap the harvest with their swords 

From village, field and town. 

was ensnared, tortured and put to death. He was burned at the stake 
just outside the castle gate. Cardinal Beaton, arrayed in his robes of 
office, sat at a window overlooking the horrible spectacle, -and it is said 
that Wishart, while being mocked in his agony, predicted the fate of 
his tormentor at that same window. The martyrdom of George Wishart 
was the crowning and final atrocity of his malignant persecutor. It 
created such an outburst of indignation throughout the country that within 
three months of Wishart's death, a party of reputable and well known 
gentlemen surprised the garrison early in the morning. They found Bea- 
ton in the same room in which he had gloated over the agonies of 
Wishart. They exhorted him to repentance, as he was about to die. He 
begged for mercy, crying "I am a priest! I am a priest!" Then they 
slew him with their dagg^ers, and hung him from the window to exhibit 
the dead tyrant to the people. 

(5) When in 1560 John Knox announced his purpose to preach the 
Gospel in St. Andrew's, the Bishop hastily raised a force of a hundred 
spearmen, and sent a message to the Lords of the Congregation, saying 
that if John Knox attempted to preach in St. Andrews, he would warrant 
him a warm reception. John Knox did preach, and such was the revul- 



loo LAYS OF THE OLD LAND 

And up the Firth, to where the Tay 

Receives the Earn's flood, 
Each fertile field hath had its fray, 

And bought by Scottish blood. 

And northward in a crescent line, 

The rampant Grampians rise, 
Whose hoary peaks at sunset shine 

Against the Northern skies. 

There Rome's imperious march was stayed, (*) 

Her legions backward hurled, 
When Scotia's mountaineers arrayed 

Their prowess to the world. 

O grand old guardians of the land, 

We hail thee from afar; 
The nestling place of heroes grand, 

The brave in peace or war. 

Thy sons have scaled the Arctic peaks, 

And tracked the torrid sands; 
Whenever love or duty speaks. 

Or honor's call commands, 

sion of feeling that on the fourth day of his preaching the people, led by 
the Magistrates of the city, broke, burned and destroyed the idolatrous 
images and burned the monastery. 

(6) "There Rome's imperious march was stayed." 
The site of the old Roman Camp at Balin-luig, in Perthshire, is 
marked by a Latin Cross, to indicate the last outpost of the Roman 
Conquest. 



LAYS OF THE OLD LAND loi 

There are thy sons, and o'er the earth, 

Wherever they may be, 
The heart clings to the place of birth, 

The home-land of the free. 

And thus, O Scotia! from the west 

My fond heart turns to thee. 
And knows not which I love the best, 

Dunedin, or Dundee. 



THE AMERICAN SCOT'S CORONATION SALUTA- 
TION 

For mony a year in the auld land, 

We sang "God Save the Queen"; 
Nor need we edict nor command 

To keep her memory green, 
For a' the virtue and the grace 

That e'er adorned a throne, 
The world concedes her highest place, 

And there she sits alone. 

Now we maun sing "God save the King," 

Yes, save the King, sing we; 
We'll send nae blessin' wi' a string 

To Edward o'er the sea. 



102 LAYS OF THE OLD LAND 

The Scottish bluid flows warm an' true, 
And joins wi' heart an' hand 

In a' the int'rests auld an' new, 
That touch the dear auld land. 

Yes, bless the King, although it's true 

We dinna like his name. 
And muckle he may have to do 

To dignify the same. 
For a' the breed aboon the Tweed, 

Frae days o' lang, lang syne, 
Ha'e synonym o' graspin' greed 

In that same name o' thine. 

And a' the Edwards that cam North, 

They aye were backward driven ; 
Our stubborn Dads wad nane o' them, 

Hoo then could we ha'e seven? 
But cheer up, Edward ; we will try 

To help ye a' we can; 
We'll let the auld feuds a' rin dry. 

And treat ye like a man. 

And blithely sing "God save the King" 

And a' his wide domain, 
And ever may he seek to bring 

God's blessin' on the same. 
And ne'er forget our fickle race 

Will share God's smile or frown, 



LAYS OF THE OLD LAND 103 

As kings and rulers set the pace 
That leads them up or down. 

The King o' Kings, high over all, 

Rules wi' nae fickle sway. 
By Him the nations rise or fall, 

And life is "to obey!" 
And come there wars by land or sea, 

Or perils stalk abroad. 
May thy first ally ever be 

The ever-righteous God. 

And Edward, lad, think o' your Dad, 

And o' your sainted mither! 
O' a' the kings that ever reigned, 

Nane e'er had sic anither. 
And when ye mingle, as ye may, 

Amang the world's gay thrang, 
Let scandal ha'e nae word to say — 

Just tak' y'er wife alang. 

But since o' names ye had na' few, 

We wish ye'd chosen better, 
Yer figgers, too, are a' askew, 

Accordin' to the letter, 
But whether wise or itherwise, 

Our patriotic thirst 
Suggests a cup o' compromise. 

And ca' ye' "Ned" the first. 



104 LAYS OF THE OLD LAND 

THE SIEGE OF BERWICK 
A Ballad of the Olden Time 

After the terrible defeat of the English at Bannockburn, June 24, 
1 3 14, and the death of King Edward the Second, foully murdered by 
connivance of his own family, the kingdom of Scotland was firmly 
established by King Robert Bruce. 

A treaty of peace was held at Northampton, June 24, 1328, a re- 
arrangement of boundaries and a confirmation by marriage of David, 
son of King Robert, to Joan or Joanna, sister of King Edward the Third. 
After the death of Bruce, July 9, 1329, his son, David, was pro- 
claimed King, and was sent to France to be educated in a manner 
becoming his high rank and station, and it was during his minority 
and absence that intrigues were begun by King Edward, and the sub- 
sequent siege of Berwick, and disastrous battle of Halidon Hill, July 19, 
1333- 

King Edward third, who bore the name 

And wore the English crown, 

Set hungry eyes on Scottish land 

And on old Berwick town. 

With small regard for vested right, 

For treaty or for truce; 
He only knew he coveted, 

And Scotland had no Bruce. 

His ships came sailing up the Tweed, 

His army swarmed the land, 
And to the City Governor 

He sent this stern command. 



LAYS OF THE OLD LAND 105 

"Come forth, Sir Seaton, come in haste, 

And on your bended knees, 
Surrender ye the citadel, 

And bring to me the keys. 

And if ye wealth and honor crave, 

Or favor at my hand, 
Your honor and your safety lies, 

In heeding my command. 

But be ye tardy to obey 

Such simple terms as these. 
We'll fire the roofs above your heads 

And smoke ye out like bees. 

And we shall scourge your Scottish rogues 

Beyond our English line, 
For by the right of English might 

Old Berwick shall be mine." 

But Edward wist not that his foe 

Was made in sterner mould 
Than quail before a monarch's threat, 

Or fawn for England's gold. 

"Go tell your master," Seaton said, 

" 'Tis not a soldier's choice 
To take his orders from a foe. 

Nor quail before his voice. 



io6 LAYS OF THE OLD LAND 

Mine honor and my duty lies 
In serving King and State, 

And for old Scotland's absent King, 
I scorn both foe and fate. 

And spurn the base un-kingly king 

Who in a time of peace 
Would rob his helpless brother king, 

Like lamb shorn of its fleece. 

And by God's favor, here we stand. 
Let fortune smile or frown ; 

Our trusty men, though one to ten, 
Are here to hold the town." 

Then day by day the arrows flew, 
Through castle, court and street, 

And night by night the catapults 
Threw fire-brands from the fleet. 

But soon the sailors found their game 
Was one that two could play, 

The ships were better fuel than walls, 
And so they sailed away. 

But partial victory was won 

At cost of precious life, 
For Seaton's first born son went down 

Amid the fiery strife. 



LAYS OF THE OLD LAND 107 

And day by day and night by night 

The deadly game went on. 
Assault and sally! breach and rout! 

Till three long months had gone. 

But though the Burghers kept the town 

And held the foe at bay, 
Fever and famine's stealthy grasp 

Grew stronger day by day. 

Till babes drew blood from mothers' breasts, 

And maids fell faint and died, 
And the gaunt warders scarce could trail 

The weapons by their side. 

Then Edward 'neath a flag of truce, 

Sent crafty words and said : 
"Now we can calmly bide our time 

Till you shall all be dead. 

But bravely ye have held the town, 

I fain would spare your lives; 
Like brave men, open now your gates, 

And save your babes and wives." 

Sir Seaton saw the sore distress; 

It wrung his heart with grief ; 
Yet with tenacious hope he prayed 

The North might send relief. 



io8 LAYS OF THE OLD LAND 

And thus made answer to the King; 

"If Heaven that rules our fates, 
Send not relief e're Magdalen's Da}'', 

Then we shall ope the gates." 

"Nov/, speak ye fair," King Edward said, 
"But that the deed be done, 

Pledge me a hostage with your word: 
Send me your gallant son." 

"I hold mine honor," Seaton said, 
"More sacred than my life; 

But seek ye more? I give my son, 
A pledge to end the strife. 

One with your burning ships went down, 

And one by fate's decree. 
Is now a captive in your hands, 

And one is left to me. 

But never hath a Scaton's blood 
Been deaf to mercy's call ; 

In mercy's name, I pledge him, too. 
And wait what may befall." 

Then there came tidings from the North, 

Of army of relief, 
And at its head the dreaded name 

Of Douglass for their chief. 



LAYS OF THE OLD LAND 109 

Then cried King Edward in his rage, 

"Haste! rear a jibbet high, 
And tell Sir Seaton now to yield, 

Or see his two whelps die." 

O bitter, bitter, was the dree 

Of Seaton in that hour. 
To see his sons arrayed for death 

Before the castle tower. 

While tauntingly King Edward cried: 

"Bend now your stubborn knee, 
Or see your gallant sons swing high 

Upon the gallows tree." 

Then Seaton groaned: "O cruel death! 

And worse than death to yield. 
O would that I and all my sons 

Had died upon the field." 

O if it be that angels dwell 

In tenements of clay, 
A blessed angel kissed his cheek. 

And spake to him that day. 

The tender, strong, heroic soul 

Of mother, wife and saint. 
Poured strength into the anguished soul 

That for a while was faint. 



no LAYS OF THE OLD LAND 

"Courage, my lord! God rules," she said, 
"And better death than shame; 

Your duty is to keep the town 
And your untarnished name. 

To yield to such a faithless wretch 

In his unholy strife, 
Would shame the bitterness of death 

With bitterness of life. 

Our sons, gallant, noble sons, 

In the fair bloom of youth, 
May die as holy martyrs die. 

For honor and for truth. 

And who can tell? (We are not old), 

But God for thy fair fame 
May bless us still with other sons. 

To bear thine honored name." 

Thus while she spake brave words of hope, 

She turned her lord away 
From foulest deed king ever wrought 

In the fair light of day. 

Next day, before the truce was spent. 
The Scottish host drew nigh, 

And when they saw brave Seaton's sons, 
Hang between earth and sky. 



LAYS OF THE OLD LAND in 

Forgetful of their toilsome march, 

They rushed upon the foe 
(Who now were trenched on Halidon), 

They on the plain below. 

Alas! for such a reckless charge! 

In that unequal fight, 
With rocks and arrows half were slain 

Before they scaled the height. 

All breathless and exhausted, then; 

The foe all fresh and lithe, 
The remnant of the Scots were mown 

Like grass before the scythe. 

O rueful day! that dawned in hope, 

But ere che sun went down, 
A perjured monarch's banner waved 

Above old Berwick town. 



AN APPEAL FOR THE AULD BRIG O' AYR 

What means that blast, like trumpet blare, 
To stir the bluid, an' lift the hair? 
Roseberry cries, "The Brig o' Ayr 

'S aboot ta fa', 
An' little matter o' repair 

Wad save it a'. " 



112 LAYS OF THE OLD LAND 

This is the Brig whaur Robin stood, 
Ae' Autumn nicht in dreamy mood, 
While in his heid a hummin' brood 

O' strange idees 
Were workin' for the common good, 

Like busy bees. 

Ah, Robin, little did ye ken, 
The meshes ye were weavin' then, 
Wad warps the hearts o' fellow men, 

A' round the earth: 
An' great an' sma' wi' tongue an' pen, 

Wad bless yev birth. 

Yes, Robin! at thy honored name 
Ilk Scottish heart is a' aflame: — 
(We winna breathe oo'r fathers' shame, 

But say things nice:) 
Sweet is the flattery o' fame; 

But O the price! 

Now fame is thine, and bravely won. 
The World applauds Auld Scotia's son. 
And while the circling years shall run 

Thy fame shall grow; — 
To ken thy wish, is work half done, 

As we shall show. 

A' round the earth, sons o' the heather 
Upon thy natal day forgether; 



LAYS OF THE OLD LAND 113 

In sunny lands or wintry weather, 

They sing thy lays, 
An' kingly men a' ca' ye brither, 

And swell thy praise. 

Ye sons o' Scotia! far an' near, 
And a' that name o' Burns revere; 
Show to the World a heart sincere, 

And love profound: — 
The stanes on which he stood haud dear. 

Like holy ground. 

Nor let us stop wi' vain pretence, 
But act in time, like men o' sense: — 
Oot wi' your dollars, pounds, or pence, 

Dimes or bawbees ; 
The heart o' love coonts nae expense, 

"Step lively, please!" 

Men o' the Auld Land! Yours the blame, 

Should "Ayr's Auld Brig" prove Scotland's shame: — 

Some men o' alien bluid an' name 

Wad sell their sark 
To see the Auld Brig find a hame 

In Central Park. 



SCOTS WORTHIES 

Lives of great men all remind us 
We can make our lives sublime. 

And departing leave behind us 
Footprints on the sands of time. 

— Longfelloiu. 



SCOTS WORTHIES 117 



JOHN KNOX 

O, stern Elijah of our Scottish clime! 

Thy rugged speech grates harshly on our ears 

In these calm days when thunder wakes our fears, 

And mars the cadences of peaceful time; 

We miss the harmony that makes sublime 
The fitness of thy speech to other years, 
When in the storm and stress of blood and tears, 

Soft speech were craven speech, and silence crime. 
Not thine the suave address, nor velvet tongue, 

To fawn on tyranny exalted high. 

But with thy thunder tones and flashing eye. 
Thou didst assail the tempter, fair and young, ' 
While from thy patriot heart the cry was wrung, 

"GWe freedom. Lord, to Scotland, or I die!" 

SAMUEL RUTHERFORD 

The name of Samuel Rutherford holds an honored place among the 
"Scots Worthies." He played a leading part in the Reformation, in the 
troublesome times of Charles the First, and the Cromwellian era. 
Shortly after the ascension of Charles the Second to the throne, Ruther- 
ford, who was then Professor of Theology In Saint Andrews University, 
fell under the malignant attention of that profligate monarch. Kis 
writings were ordered to be burned by the "Common Hangman," and 
he himself deposed from all offices, and summoned to appear before 
Parliament on a certain day and plead to the charges of heresy and 
treason. When the summons reached him he was on his deathbed, and 



ii8 SCOTS WORTHIES 

he calmly said: "I have a summons to appear before a Superior Judge. 
I must answer my first summons, and before your day arrives I will be 
where few kings or great folks come." 

In old Saint Andrews by the sea, 

A Christian soldier lay, 
Longing in spirit to be free 

From Earth's long, thorny way. 

The sunset of a stormy life 

Lit up his saintly brow, 
Transforming marks of pain and strife 

To dawn of glory now. 

When came a summons from the king, 

That on a certain day 
He stand before the bar and bring 

His plea without delay. 

He calmly said; "Earth's mighty things 

Dwindle in their import 
When summons from the King of Kings 

Calls to a higher court. 

His court is in Immanuel's land, 

Where love and justice flow, 
And when He issues his command, 

No power may answer, no! 

And the grave charges that ye bring 
Give me but little care, 



SCOTS WORTHIES 119 

My crimes against my earthly king 
Shall not be heard up there. 

There no profane and Godless kings 

Tell prelates what to preach; 
Nor hireling priests throw leading strings 

The people scorn to reach. 

Grant, O my Father, when I go, 

After endurance long, 
Scotland shall rise and overthrow 

The ribald rule of wrong. 

And from the blood of martyrs slain, 

And all their prayers and tears, 
The Prince of Peace shall rise and reign 

Through all the coming years." 



JENNY GEDDES 

There's mony a name o' honest fame, 

Enshrined in sang and story, 
To keep the Scottish heart aflame, 

Wi' tales o' Scottish glory. 
In ilka toun, the auld wives croon, 

O' its brave lords and leddys, 
But Edinboro beats them a' 

Wi' brave auld Jenny Geddes. 



120 SCOTS WORTHIES 

Hooray for Jenny Geddes! 
Oo'r brave auld Jenny Geddes, 
Nae leddy grand e'er served oo'r land 
As did brave Jenny Geddes. 

When first King Charlie took the throne 

O' oo'r great sister nation, 
He vow'd he'd male' us serve the Lord 

By royal proclamation ; 
Sae he sent doun his Bishop Laud, 
Wi' book o' prayers an' masses; 
But he was no the kind o' laud 
To win oo'r Scottish lasses; 
He kent na Jenny Geddes! 
Weel groundit, Jenny Geddes, 
Nae prelat' loun, sent by the croun, 
Could warsle Jenny Geddes. 

In high Sant Giles' rose the dean, 

Wi' a' his priestly airs, 
And as was wont, deaf Jenny sat 

Upon the poopet stairs ; 
And the douce bailies twirl'd their thooms, 

An lookit glum as neddies, 
Till Scotland's pent-up wrath was fired. 

By brave auld Jenny Geddes, 
Hooray for Jenny Geddes! 
Oo'r brave auld Jenny Geddes, 



SCOTS WORTHIES 121 

Nae prentit prayers, nor priestly airs, 
Wad suit auld Jenny Geddes. 

Her cutty stool flew at his held, 

An' thus her tongue brak' loose, 
"Daur ye to drone mass at my lug 

Within the Lord's ain hoose?" 
The fire that flashed frae Jenny's e'e, 

Spread like a flamin' brand, 
And left men free to worship God, 
Through a' the Scottish land. 
Hooray for Jenny Geddes! 
Oo'r brave auld Jenny Geddes, 
She made a stir an' gard things whirr, 
Oo'r wrathfu' Jenny Geddes. 

Oh, it's no aye the wise an' great, 
Wha' teach the greatest lesson; 
Nor is it aye frae high estate 

There comes the greatest blessin'. 
We look for great things frae the great, 

Whiles frae life's quiet eddies, 
The Lord ca's up some simple soul. 
To flare like Jenny Geddes! 
Hooray for Jenny Geddes! 
Oo'r brave auld Jenny Geddes, 
I lift my hat an' bless the name. 
O' brave auld Jenny Geddes. 



122 SCOTS WORTHIES 



ARCHIE ARMSTRONG 

The Last Court Fool 
A lesson jrom history 

Poor fool! Like many another fool, 

He sadly fell from grace, 
Because he could not curb his wit 

To suit the time and place. 

The licensed fool at court was he; 

And jester to the king: 
And oft in times of revelry 

He made the rafters ring. 

The king, he dearly loved a jest, 
More than he loved his prayers; 

And loved him best who could divest 
His mind of State affairs. 

His regal mind was much inclined 

To the old regal sway: — 
He held it was his "right to rule!" 

"The people's — to obey!" 

And there was trouble in the North: 
The rude, cantankerous Scots 

Were tangling up their pious souls 
In Theologic knots. 



SCOTS WORTHIES 123 

When in a beatific mood, 

His Grace the "Primate" came, 
And showed the king a wondrous plan 

To glorify his name, 

And bring contentment to the realm, 

And spread his fame abroad; 
By teaching the benighted Scots 

How they should worship God. 

For He! "Defender of the Faith!" 

All error should expel, 
And turn their crude Schismatic souls 

From paths that lead, — Oh, well, — 

We need not say all that was said 

By pious Bishop Laud: — 
For to this day the Scotians say 

He was a pious fraud. 

With proclamation from the King 

The vestured priests went forth. 
To lead like lambs in velvet strings, 

The lions of the North. 

They little knew of Scottish faith: 

Or Calvinistic yeast: — 
As loves a bull a scarlet robe. 

So loves the Scot a priest. 



124 SCOTS WORTHIES 

Before the service well began 
(So fickle are things human), 

The priest was flying for his life, 
Before a wrathful woman. 

The populace was roused to wrath: — 

The sullen Calvinistic 
Resented insult to his faith 

With demonstrations fistic. 

The tumult spread throughout the land 
Mid scenes of wild disorder: 

The pious priests packed up their prayers 
And fled beyond the border. 

When the Archbishop heard the news, 

He fled in consternation 
To seek the King! Then Archie grinned, 

And made this observation: 

"Good morning to j-our Reverent Grace; 

Pardon! my lord, I pray," 
"Heard ye the tidings from the North? — 

Who plays the fool today?" 

The outraged Bishop told the King: 

And sober history tells. 
They flogged poor Archie nigh to death. 

And burned his cap and bells. 



SCOTS WORTHIES 125 

And when the "Court Fool" was deposed, 

And laid upon the shelf, 
It seems as though the King resolved 

To play the fool himself. 

He bully-ragged his councillors, 

Till all the wise ones fled: — 
He lost his friends! He lost his crown! 

And then he lost his head ! 

•Thus the court fool became extinct 

Upon the banks of Thames: — 
A few survive in other lands, 

But known by other names. 

One makes grimaces at the world 

Where "Neva" seeks the sea; 
Another cuts up monkey shines 

Suggestive of the "Spree." 

Thus history repeats itself. 

But in its solemn school. 
Men who wear crowns, should not combine 

The ruler with the fool. 



126 SCOTS WORTHIES 

ROBERT BURNS 

O who shall sing his praise to-night? 

Or who shall speak his name? 
What gifted tongue, or fancy's flight, 

Can soar beyond his fame? 

He whom a thousand bards have sung, 
Down through a hundred years. 

In Scottish, and in alien tongue. 
With mingled mirth and tears. 

He the unhonored lowly one. 
Who trod toil's dusty ways, 

And brightened all he looked upon: 
How meager then his praise! 

The poor said, "He is but our own," 
(As prophet might expect,) 

The rich looked on with hearts of stone. 
And chilled him with neglect. 

Pedantic learning looked askance 

Upon the rustic bard, 
'Twas Love alone that dared advance 

To pay its sweet reward. 

His bosom felt the eager clutch 

Of every warring fate^ 
But love and pity claimed so much, 

They left no room for hate. 



SCOTS WORTHIES 127 

His heart was like Aeolian lyre, 

Attuned to passions strong; 
His soul glowed with Celestial fire, 

That turned all things to song. 

Beast, Bird, and "modest little flower," 

Unhonored thus before; 
He breathed on them his mystic power. 

To charm for evermore. 

The woodland streams that long were mute. 

And nameless flowed along; 
Were stirred as by Apollo's lute, 

And rippled into song. 

Life's tangled web, its woof, and warp; 

And all life's secret springs, 
He played on them as on a harp. 

And thrilled its thousand strings. 

O Robin ! Scotia's darling son ; 

In thy brief stormy years; 
How vast the trophies thou hast won? 

With thy heart's blood and tears. 

Not humble birth, nor low estate. 

Could bind thy pinions long; 
Thou soarest high among the great: — 

The deathless sons of song. 



128 SCOTS WORTHIES 

Milton, and Dante, we revere; 

And Shakespeare we admire; 
Scott and a hundred more are dear 

Among the minstrel choir. 

But He who holds our hearts in thrall! 

On earth, or gone above. 
The dearest, sweetest, of them all 

The Bard of Love! we love. 

To-night upon the stormy sea, 

And on all lands of earth. 
The sons of Scotia think of thee. 

And land that gave thee birth. 

And thus with Scottish hearts aflame, 
This old world rolls along, 

And to the honor of thy name, 
Ringed with a wreath of song. 

O Peasant, Patriot, Bard and King! 

Thou each and all by turns; 
Till birds and freemen cease to sing, 

Shall live thy fame o' Burns. 

And Scotland! Should thy fields be spread 
Once more in martial strife, 

His "Scots' wha hae wi' Wallace bled!" 
Shall rouse the dead to life. 



SCOTS WORTHIES 129 

SIR WALTER SCOTT 

\_Jfter reading William Watson's Poem of the same nameJ\ 

Yes, there he sits, before the human tide, 

Too great was he to fawn on fickle fame; 

He wove his magic spell, without a name, 
Till o'er the earth the charm spread far and wide, 
Betrayed its source — the "wizard" of Tweed side; 

His genius shrined and glorified the past; 

He faces now the future, far more vast, 
Making the past its counsellor and guide, 
Yes, Scotland! thou didst well to set him there, 

To show the world your model of a man; 

Ignoring fame to work a God-like plan. 
Steadfast he stood where heroes might despair; 

Now, men! Behold him, where life's currents run, 

And as for gods; Scotland knows only one. 



I30 SCOTS WORTHIES 

WILLIAM CRAIG 

President Roosevelt's body-guard. Died at his post, September 3, 
i9o2. The following message was sent by King Edward to the Presi- 
dent: 

London, September 5, i9o2. 
To the President of the United States: 

The news of the accident caused me the deepest concern. I earnestly 
trust to receive further assurance that it has not resulted in serious 
consequences to yourself. 

Edward, R. and I. 

If unto thee, O Truth, 'tis given 

To guard the scroll of fame. 
Take thou thy stylus and indite 

Another kingly name. 

Write "William Craig," who craig-like stood 

Where duty bade him stand — ■ 
Symbol of steadfastness and strength 

That marks his native land. 

His was the courage that in war 

Braves dangers fierce and wild; 
His was the giant strength in peace 

That frolics with a child. 

The praise that spurious heroes crave 

By him were all -.nsought, 
Though he was bravest of the brave 

Where none but heroes fought. 



SCOTS WORTHIES 131 

True to his name and to his trust, 

In peace, and not in strife, 
He died when at a single bound 

He might have leaped to life. 

On peaceful mission while he rode, 

Imperious death outran, 
And snatched away the plebeian mask 

And showed the kingly man. 



THE UNCROWNED KING 

He needs no prefix to his name, 

Nor lettered tail to swing 
Among the lofty sons of fame, 

Serene he stands, a king! 

One whom great honor flatters not, 
And great wealth cannot spoil; 

His only pride, from lowly lot 
He rose by honest toil. 

When fickle Fortune, sweet and coy, 
Went out her pranks to play. 

There ran an eager, anxious boy 
To meet her on her vmy. 



132 SCOTS WORTHIES 

And call it genius if you will, 

Or call it fickle chance, 
But Fortune smiled upon him still 

At every bold advance. 

The paths he opened, thousands more 
Have followed in his train, 

And that which brought him golden store 
Hath been the wide world's gain. 

No brooding heart was his, to scan 
The frowns of adverse fate; 

The hero heart was in the man^ 
And not in his estate. 

Wealth cannot make a kingly man, 

Nor poverty a boor; 
The road to blessing or to ban 

Lies before rich and poor. 

And when the poor spurn envious hate, 
And base men cease to fawn. 

And God gives worth with great estate, 
Millenial days will dawn. 



SALT WATER SONGS 

What! no more sea? O lonely seer. 
What heaven could there be 

In all the universe of God, 
Without the glorious seaf 



SALT WATER SONGS I35 



THE OLD SALT'S SOLILOQUY 

Oh, often when I hear the winds 

Strike up their stormy glee, 
My heart beats high and oft I sigh 

To be upon the sea. 

To-night the moon is in the sky, 

Enwrapt in stormy shrouds, 
And like a ship upon the sea, 

She saileth through the clouds. 

A flickering star is faintly seen 

And quickly fades away. 
Like a far distant beacon light 

Lost in the rising spray. 

And every sight and every sound 

Fans up my wild delight, 
Till fancy wafts me out to sea 

On such a stormy night. 

Ho, boatswain ! sound your shrilly pipe 
Make all things snug and tight, 

I hear the minstrels that shall play 
A lively tune to-night. 



136 SALT WATER SONGS 

The waves put on their crests of foam, 
The clouds fly low and fast, 

And wild /EoUsLn minstrels tune 
Their harps around the mast. 

And down below the iron heart 

Begins to throb and beat 
tWith quickening pulses to keep time 

With prance of nimble feet, — 

For the wild war-steeds of the north 

Are rushing to the fray, 
And from distended nostrils blow 

Their clouds of frozen spray. 

The lee rail ripples in the sea, 

The stem cleaves through the ridge, 

Till solid water sweeps the deck, 
And flying scud the bridge. 

And groaning, creaking, quivering on. 

In every beam and spar, 
The good ship bravely holds her way 

Through elemental war. 

And like a conqueror drives on 
Through the tempestuous night, 

Till rainbow-tinted billows play 
Beneath the morning light. 



SALT WATER SONGS 137 

Oh, scream aloud, ye stormy winds! 

And roar, thou glorious sea, 
Heroic souls are borne aloft 

On thy tumultuous glee. 

I envy not the timid souls 

That dream of starlit seas, 
Whose milder feelings are expressed 

By sighing summer breeze; 

Give me the rapturous delight 

Of music w^ild and free. 
That God's heroic minstrels play 

On stormy nights at sea. 

FALLING STARS 

I 

In dreamy autumn days, upon the sand 
Two neighbor children played in thoughtless glee, 
Till evening shadows gathered o'er the land, 
And stars looked down upon the tranquil sea, 
When suddenly, athwart the northern sky, 
A flitting star drew its long train of light. 
And like a startled spirit seemed to fly, 
Into the dark recesses of the night. 

"Now have a wish the lassie said, 
And if your heart be true. 

The thing you wish with all your heart 
Will surely come to you." 



138 SALT WATER SONGS 

I wish, I wish, with faltering tongue, he said, 
I wish I were a man, to sail the sea 

Far, far away, where gold and gems are spread, 
And then come back and give them all to thee. 



II 



Two happy lovers wandered hand in hand. 

When harvest moon was rising from the sea 

And threw a shining pathway from the land, 

Into the darkness of infinity — 

A sparkling jewel from the brow of night 

Fell on the heaving bosom of the sea. 

And for a moment dimmed the shimmering light, 

And died away in silent mystery. 

"Now have a wish the maiden said, 
And if your heart be true, 

The thing you wish with all your heart 
Will surely come to you." 
I have a wish, a life-long wish he said. 

And if your words be as my heart, so true, 
The wish is granted. And the blushing maid 

Gave silent answer with her eyes of blue. 

Ill 

The lovers parted, and the years rolled on, 
And eager eyes look out upon the Main, 



SALT WATER SONGS 139 

Where storm and calm have often come and gone, 

But ship, nor lover, cometh not again. 

And in the silent vi^atches of the night, 

She listens to the breakers on the bar 

Or looks intensely for the train of light 

That marks the pathway of a falling star. 

And then she says, "I have a wish, 
God grant it unto me, 

That I were with my love again, 
Beyond life's troubled sea." 
O seas may roll, and years may pass away. 

And aching hearts still watch upon the shore, 
But love's great mystery shall be solved some day, 

And lovers true be parted nevermore. 



THE WRECK OF THE STELLA 

A crash! A cry! A terror shock! 
And Stella on the Casquet rock 
Sends forth a thrill around the world 
When all her living freight were hurled 

Into the surging deep. 
Brief space, and briefer speech was there 
For wild farwell, or parting prayer. 
The pall of death lay on the sea. 
And up the slanting deck in glee 

The hungry waters leap. 



140 SALT WATER SONGS 

Into the life-boats hurried fast 

The women, and the children passed; 

And to the glory of our race 

No craven coward strove for place. 

They stood, Old England's common stock. 

But like a hero band 
Unterrified by strain or shock 
Of sudden death and certain doom; 
They braved the chill and watery tomb, 

True to the brave old land. 

O Land, encircled by the sea, 
We send our greeting unto thee; 
The brave and true of every land 
Claim kinship with the gallant band 

Who stood the strain that day. 
And showed the world a nobler strife 
Than comes of craven love of life; 
When duty prompts to nobler things 
The spirit of the old sea kings 

Hath suffered no decay. 

SING ME A LULLABY, DARK ROLLING SEA 

Sing me a lullaby, dark rolling sea. 

Waft me in dreams far away from the shore. 

Oft thou hast been as a mother to me. 
Rock me to rest on thy bosom once more. 



SALT WATER SONGS 141 

When I was weary with sorrow and pain, 
Broken in spirit and burdened with care, 

Came thy kind mother-heart's soothing refrain, 
Lifting me up from the gloom of despair. 

Fair is the land of the myrtle and palm, 

Sweet is the breath of the woodbine and pine, 

Dearer to me is thy life-giving balm, 

Scenting the breeze with the odor of brine. 

Far have I roamed over mountain and plain, 
Oft have I lingered o'er scenes fair to see; 

But old love is true love, and absence is pain, 
Nowhere is home that is distant from thee. 

And when the stormy winds rushing afar 

Over the forest and unsalted sea 
Sound like a mimicry of thy wild war. 

Then my heart thrills with a longing for thee. 

Sing me a lullaby, dark rolling sea, 

Waft me in dreams far away from the shore, 

Oft hast thou been as a mother to me, 
Rock me to rest on thy bosom once more. 



142 SALT WATER SONGS 



NO MORE SEA! 

"And there was no more sea." Rev. xxi-i. 
What! no more sea? O lonely seer, 

What heaven could there be 
In all the universe of God, 

Without the glorious sea? 

In streams of blessing round the earth 

Its circling waters flow, 
Free as upon creation's morn 

It bounded long ago. 

Oh how sublime in all its moods! 

Whether in tempest's roar. 
Or when it deigns to laugh and play 

With children on the shore. 

Behold its diamonds set in blue, 

Far sparkling in the light, 
While at our feet its fringes flow 

In emerald and white. 

The mountain rills, the valley streams, 

The mighty rivers course 
All down to thee, thou mighty sea, 

Their fountain and their source. 



SALT WATER SONGS 14: 

O restless, ever changing tide, 

O never changed sea, 
Emblem of thy Creator's power, 

And of eternity. 

O shepherd on the lonely isle, 

Thy ravaged flock I see. 
Far sundered by a cruel hate 

And separating sea. 

Did the bright portal of the morn 

Suggest thy glorious theme? 
Or did the western cloudland's glow 

Give color to thy dream? 

And soaring in thy raptured flight 

From all earth's fetters free 
Didst see in all the realms of love, 

No separating sea? 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

/ would that my tongue could utter 
The thoughts that arise in me. 

—Tennyson. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 147 

WHEN THE PILGRIM MARCH IS ENDED 

When the pilgrim march is ended. 

And the earth campaign is done, 
And its checkered scenes all blended 

At the setting of the sun: 
O how longingly I wonder 

If the thoughts that come to me 
Shall awaken over yonder 

At the dawn of eternity. 

There were friendships fondly cherished 

By youth's ardent, hopeful heart. 
That in life's campaign have perished 

Or have drifted far apart, 
And the horoscope of gladness 

For the years that were to be, 
Wears a mystic veil of sadness 

Like the missing ships at sea. 

There were sweet, melodious voices, 

That have made my heart to thrill, 
That have long been hushed in silence. 

But whose echoes linger still. 
And their cadences of sweetness 

Bear the impress of a vow 
Of harmonious completeness 

That is marred and broken now. 



148 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

There were bright angelic spirits 

Dres't awhile in human guise 
Whose sweet benedictions dawned not 

On my sin beclouded eyes. 
There were eyes whose light hath blessed me, 

And whose lashes have been wet 
With the pathos of the parting 

I can never more forget. 

There were children who unbidden 

Came and nestled in my heart, 
That have gone and left a longing 

That shall never more depart: 
There were wants and aspirations, 

Unbegotten of the will ; 
And a hungering and thirsting 

That the world hath failed to fill. 

There are mines of hidden treasure 

Unrevealed to mortal sight, — 
There are gems of sparkling splendor 

That have never seen the light; 
There are scenes of Eden beauty 

That were passed in life's campaign: 
And my heart is filled with longing 

To revisit them again. 

O the garlands that were blighted 
In the passion fires of life, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 149 

And the love all unrequited 

In the turmoil and the strife: 
O the grand tasks uncompleted, 

And the sweet songs all unsung, 
And the kind thoughts that have fleeted 

Un repeated by my tongue. 

O I know not what awaiteth 

When I cross the misty stream, 
And the mystic veil is lifted 

From the vision and the dream. 
Call it faith, or call it fancy, 

That illumes this daily strife. 
With a blessed hope while waiting 

In the vestibule of life. 



THE MOURNERS 

The evening shades were falling, and the fading light was shed 
Like a parting benediction on the city of the dead. 

And through all the silent city a stillness filled the air, 
As though all earthly voices were hushed in silent prayer. 

When the bell above the gateway tolled the solemn hour to close, 
Calling living to the living, leaving dead to their repose. 

Then a voice of lamentation like the voice that "Ramah" gave, 
From a "Rachel" prostrate lying on a little new made grave. 



I50 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

And wild words of love and sorrow from her anguished heart 

were wrung, 
Words of madness and upbraiding, all unfit for mortal tongue. 

When another form drew near her, silver-haired and sombre clad, 
Statue-like it bended o'er her, silent, pitiful and sad. 

Then it quietly knelt beside her, gently stroked the prostrate head, 
And breathed words of consolation, "Blessed, blessed are the 
dead!" 

Weep, O weep, poor stricken mother, for your heart is crushed 

and sore, 
But O think upon your darling, safe with God for evermore. 

Think of Him who loved and taught us what mankind had 

never known. 
That the children are God's angels, ever near the Father's throne. 

And who knoweth! O who knoweth, but your darling now may 

be 
With the Father interceding for poor souls like you and me? 

Weep, O weep, heart broken mother, but O tempt not love 

divine, 
Lest the Lord should lay upon you some great sorrow like to 

mine. 

I am old and bowed with sorrow, but I once was young and gay, 
All unthinking of to-morrow, I would have my wilful way. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 151 

I was mother's only darling, and my father went to sea, 
And one day a gallant sailor plighted his brave heart to me. 

And the happy years flew onward, life seemed all without a 

cloud. 
Till one day upon my heart there fell the shadow of a shroud. 

My only child, my darling child, O she was fair to see, 
God's dark-plumed angel seemed to stand between my child and 
me. 

And when they said, "The child is dead," I cried, "We shall not 

part: 
Take what thou wilt, but spare to me the idol of my heart." 

I clutched my darling to my heart in frenzy of despair. 

And swooned as in the arms of death, my darling's fate to share. 

And when I woke and wondering if I had crossed the tide, 
There lay the child in glow of life, in slumber by my side. 

My mother wept and sobbed aloud to hear the pastor pray, 
"Grant, Lord, thy handmaid may not live to rue this wilful day." 

And there was sorrow in his heart, and tears were in his eyes, 
When from his knees beside my bed I saw the good man rise. 

Like prophet of the olden time, he wept and prayed o'er me, — 
My husband and my father died within a year at sea. 



152 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

My mother drooped and pined away, grieving for others' grief, 
But God was pitiful to her, and gave her kind relief. 

But I have walked a weary way, and borne a weary load, 

O that my child were like to thine ! safe in the arms of God — 

Safe in the everlasting arms of love and power divine, 
With pledge that where your treasure is, there shall your heart 
incline. 

Go to thy home, poor stricken heart, and love shall soothe thy 

grief, 
There is a balm for wounded hearts, seek thou its kind relief. 

For God is good! Alas! that we poor creatures of an hour 
Should lift our puny hands to stay Omnipotence and power 

So mighty that the mountains rise and fall at His command, 
So gentle that the thistle-down is guided by His hand. 

And time shall teach a lasting truth and soothe thy sorrows o'er, 
Even as the stormy billows smooth the sand upon the shore. 

But I must walk a weary way, in sorrow and in dread, 

A living sorrow gnaws my heart, O blessed are the dead! 

O hasten, Lord! the happy day that brings my soul's release, 
And earth's green mantle wraps my breast in folds of eternal 
peace. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 153 

MEMORIAL DAY 
A Reverie 

Yes, this is my memorial day, 

But few may know, and no one cares: 

I move in my accustomed way, 
A toiler in the world's affairs. 

The busy throng doth not incline 

To know the sorrows I have known; 
And hearts that are attuned to mine. 

Will all have sorrows of their own. 

The pain, the passion and the tears, 

That wrung my heart so long ago, 
Have mellowed with the passing j^ears, 

And love sends back its after-glow. 

Love dies not with the passing breath, 

But all the gross material things, 
And meaner passions die with death: 

And love unfolds its spirit wings. 

The selfish sorrow of the hour 

Awhile may paralyze the will. 
But love demands a richer dower 

In deeds of loving service still. 



154 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

Faith is the antidote of grief, 

Hope is the star to banish fears, 

And ministries of kind relief 
Is better far than silent tears. 

Love triumphs still, and sorrow dies 
As storm clouds lingeringly depart. 

Transformed in glorious twilight skies 
That leave a longing in the heart. 

Thus shall I go my destined way, 

Trusting in Him who knoweth when 

My raptured soul shall wake some day, 
And I shall clasp my own again. 



MORNING, NOON AND NIGHT 

To One I Love 

The day rose in sadness, the tears of the night 
Reflected no gladness by sparkle of light; 
The sky was o'ershaded, the earth was in gloom, 
And life drooped and faded like flowers on a tomb. 

/it noontide the sunshine had parted the gray. 
Transforming the teardrops on leaflet and spray, 
And out of the sparkling of gem-studded bowers 
Came the music of birds and the fragrance of flowers. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 155 

At eve when the sunlight declined in the West, 
In azure and gold la}^ the isles of the blest, 
And the mists of the morning that darkened the day 
Resplendent in glory were fading away. 

O ! Soul, whose young morning was watered by tears, 
The sunlight shall break through the mist of the years, 
And the sorrows that hung o'er thy life like a blight 
Shall yet be its halo of glory at night. 



HOBBIES 

Have you a hobby? I have mine, 

And dearly do I love it. 
I hold it as a gift divine. 

And prize few things above it. 

It bears me through the trials of life, 
Despising sham and shoddy, 

And tones me up for all its strife, 
In health of soul and body. 

It carries me o'er land and sea, 

From frozen pole to line. 
Fleet as the lightning and as free 

It owns no will but mine. 



156 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

The cares that crush men by their weight 
Are but my balance wheel: 

Life's duties are my precious freight, 
To keep an even keel. 

I pity all who fret and grieve^ 

And run a killing pace 
To clutch the baubles they must leave 

When they have won the race. 

I envy not the rich and great, 

Who pine in palace halls, 
I covet not the proud estate 

Where sensuous pleasure palls. 

I crave not wealth's luxurious home, 

A wider range is mine; 
I live beneath the frescoed dome 

Whose artist is divine. 

And when He draws the purple shades 

About the setting sun. 
And scatters gems in bright cascades 

Where crystal streamlets run. 

And shining sands of silver streaks 

The ameth3^st lagoon, 
High overhead of gilded peaks 

He hangs the crescent moon. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 157 

And when the curtains overhead 

Shut out the light of day, 
And star-dust o'er the heavens is spread 

To pave the Milky Way — 

I turn from gross material things 

That fret like prison bars, 
And mount my steed with spirit wings, 

And roam among the stars. 

And view God's mantle vast and grand, 

With orbs that interlace; 
Like gems thrown from a lavish hand, 

Upon the floor of space. 

Arise, O miniature of God! 

Aspire to lofty things, 
Even though thy feet be leaden shod, 

A living soul hath wings. 

Look out upon the infinite, 

And wave thy pinions free. 
Look where in myriad orbs of light 

His many mansions be. 

There! are the recreation fields, 

Where lofty souls may roam; 
Whereever God His sceptre wields 

His children are at home. 



158 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

O think not the Creator's power 
Spent on this little sphere: 

The wealth of our Celestial dower 
May be enjoyed while here. 

So mount your hobby if you will, 

Your fancies to pursue. 
But here you owe some duties still — 

See that it don't ride you! 

Men have their fancies and their freaks, 
But this is worth the knowing — 

The trend and course your hobby seeks 
Determines where you're going. 



ODE TO SPRING 

When Nature's minstrels sing 

Their rhapsodies to Spring, 
They must be bound by no poetic tether; 
But wild and free, and fickle as the weather; 

Thus would I sing 

The giddy freaks of Spring. 

"Hail, gentle Spring!" 

Thus I began my ode; 
But all too zealously the giddy thing 
Began to hail, then snowed; 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 159 

And then, coquettish as a waj^ward child. 
She pouted for a while, and then she smiled. 

And thus encouraged by her sunny smile, 
I ventured thus, her favor to beguile: 

"We hail thy glorious reign!" 

But I was fooled again ; 
Her fickle character she still sustained; 
There was no doubt she rained ! 

Then I essayed to praise the breath of Spring 
(Not that I wished to get her "on a string") ; 
And then her gentle breath began a-blowing. 
And called "Boreas" to resume his snowing: 
Who kept it up till all the fields were white, 
And then she laughed aloud in wild delight. 

O fickle Spring! coquettish in thy wooing, 
Think of the ardent hopes thou art undoing; 
A dozen times thou hast renewed the scare 
Of ruined peach crops down in Delaware; 
And then she seemed as though she had relented, 
And went like one who thinks she has repented. 

And then the vocal harbingers of Spring, 

The robin and the bluebird, tried to sing: 

But thou didst put a protest on their notes, 

And planted Laryngitis in their throats; 

They had no brazen throats, nor lungs of leather, 

That thou shouldst pelt them with such Arctic weather. 



i6o MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

Again she smiled! oh, such a winsome smile! 

I thought the fickle jade reformed at last; 

I donned my new spring suit and shiny tile, 

When lo! she struck me with an icy blast, 

That made me chase my hat through mire and sleet, 

Jeered by the vulgar rabble of the street; 

Then "whiskey and quinine," and into bed, 

With a young saw-mill buzzing in my head. 

Now, "gentle Spring!" 

Some other dupe may sing 
Thy praises with a "gall" that's superhuman; 
But if you were a man, or even woman, 
I would revile you more than tongue could tell; 
But as for you, I wish you were — Ah, well, 
I will not be so wicked as the thought; 
But why not run your business as you ought? 

THE THREE GRACES 
What a blessed thing to see. 

And O such a rarity, 
In one home the graces three! 

Faith, Hope and Charity: — 
Lizzie faithful as can be 

In life's daily rounds; 
Tillie bright and fancy free, 

Hope in her abounds; 
Aggie, greatest of the three, 

Weighs two hundred pounds. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS i6i 

THE SLUMP IN POETRY 

Advice to the Minor Poets 

O ye aspiring sons of toil, in cottage, hut or hovel, 
Incline your noses to the soil, and ply the pick and shovel. 
And fly not rashly to the pen, when thoughts within you flutter, 
Leave literature to wiser men, and think of bread and butter. 
And ye, whatever be your rank, who try to climb Parnassus, 
By working at the rhymer's crank, like literary asses. 
Your sonnet trim in every line, fit to adorn a Venus, 
W'U fail without the trademark sign: The modern stamp of 
genius. 

The Priests of literary things prescribe a scornful halter 
For the unlicensed lout who brings an offering to the altar; 
Genius alone hath license there. The gentlemen, arid scholars. 
Whose literary gifts will bear transmission into dollars. 

^j^j ****** **** g^yg^ "He's a' wrang, an' ripe for the fool- 
killer, 
Wha' writes a screed or sings a sang, withoot the klink o' siller." 
So settle this, all ye that rhyme, for be ye dunce or scholar, 
The stamp of genius in our time is the almighty dollar. 

Thus little men, of little things, shine in their little daj^ 
They clutch the tinsel favor brings, and with it pass away; 
But greater men have time to wait. Great Critics, too, are slow. 
Hence the great Bards are like the saints, they all died long ago. 



i62 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

A "Homer" now were but a tramp, Virgil of no renown, 
Shakespeare a romping, poaching scamp, and Burns a rustic 

clown. 
Poor Milton, with his aching brow, and Goldsmith, scant of 

grub. 
Would both be snubbed and black-balled now by any author's 

club. 

When Byron first began to thrum, the Critics' fusilade 
Taught him that "Poets, too, must come, like critics, ready 

made." 
Their's is a gift, and not a whim of any son or daughter, — 
As ducks are qualified to swim before they see the water. 

So now let minor poets wilt, before their lofty frown. 
Let neither tears nor ink be spilt, "Go way back and sit down;" 
Or if your rattle brain gets fired, and labors for expression, 
Wait till Pegasus can be hired, and learn this wholesome lesson. 

It's not for you, low scribbling crew, to win an honored name. 
But for the great and gifted few to win both cash and fame; — 
But still we have a word to say, such lofty scorn repelling; 
The bird that sings the loftiest lay, soars from the lowliest 
dwelling. 

And so we quarrel not with those who ply an honest trade, 
Whether they weave in rhyme or prose, or wield the pen or 
spade ; 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 163 

Men may revere the soul whose flight transcends the Milk)' 

Way, 
But love clings to the lower lights, that cheer Earth's paths 

to-day. 

The lofty themes prescribed by rules in academic halls, 
May please the high pedantic fools within the college walls; 
But songs that circle round the earth, whose echoes come again, 
Spring forth untrammeled at their birth from hearts of living 
men. 

Sing on, then, happy sons of song, in lofty strains or lowly, 
Sing with a spirit pure and strong, and aspiration holy; 
Sing on if to your heart shall come a spark of nature's fire. 
The nightingale needs not be dumb, because the. lark sings 
higher. 

Sing like the poets of the air, and swell the minstrel throng. 
Your songs, like theirs, may banish care, when love inspires the 

song; 
The song unheeded by the throng, a burdened heart may lighten, 
A word to those who suffer wrong, a darkened soul may brighten. 

Thus, like the birds, the songs I give, with loving heart I bring. 
Like them, I do not sing to live! Like them, I live and sing; 
One of the minor minstrel throng, heedless of pelf or fame, 
They sing just for the love of song, and I shall do the same. 



y 



Now Ready 

THE SCOTTISH AND AMERICAN POEMS OF 
JAMES KENNEDY. 

224 pages, 16mo., ornamental cloth. 

"All the characteristics of Scottish poetry, sim- 
plicity, tenderness, pathos and humor will be found in 
his work." — Stirling Observer. 

"The pieces which we like best are character 
sketches in the Caledonian Doric, which Mr. Kennedy 
employs with classic propriety." — Dumfries Stan- 
dard. 

"Full of real humor, and written with an in- 
sight into human nature, and a power of catching 
and fixing the salient points of character." — Aberdeen 
Free Press. 

"His style is exquisite, pure and elevated, and 
ery few, if, indeed, any, of his poems have been 
equalled by any other Scottish bard of the present 
century." — New York Home Journal. 

If the Genius of Poetry ever /afted the mantle 
of Burns to America, it must have fallen upon James 
Kennedy." — George Taylor. 

Sent by mail on receipt of price, $1.00 

Address the author in care of the 

Angus Sinclair Publishing Co. 

14 LIBERTY STREET NEW YORK 

Or copies may be had from the Caledonian Publish- 
ing Co., Bible House, New York. 



The Caledonian 

AN ILLUSTRATED MONTHLY FAMILY 
MAGAZINE. 

PUBLISHED BY THE 

Caledonian Publishing Co. 

Donald Macdougall, B. D., Editor. 

$i.oo Per Year in Advance. 

EDITORIAL office: 

83 Bible House, 4th Ave., and 8th St. New York, 

The Caledonian 

[IN ITS 8TH YEAR]. 

IT IS THE PUBLICATION FOR YOU. SUBSCRIBE NOW. 

It is an Ideal Magazine for the individual and the 
home. It sows the seeds of patriotism and lo5^alty for 
which the Scottish people have been famed, and fosters 
the same spirit among their descendants, in love and 
loyalty to the greater land of their adoption. It gives 
a just conception of America's debt to Scotland. In it 
are found inspiring articles by some of the best writers. 
It gives short biographical sketches of Scotchmen at 
home and abroad, who have left their impress upon their 
generation, and reports the doings of societies through- 
out the world ; and in each issue is found a summary of 
the world's happenings. It Covers the Whole Ground. 
If already a subscriber, kindly get your friends to sub- 
scribe. 



JAN iS 'i909 



